Harry Potter in Love
by VG Jekyll
Summary: Playwright Harry Potter seeks actors for his new play 'The Prisoner of Azkaban'. Tired of decorum, prince Draco lands himself a part in Harry's play. Though, the two have met before and sparks start to fly. Slash, Shakespeare in Love & Count of Monte Cristo.
1. Scene One

**Harry Potter In Love  
**_by VG Jekyll_

_UN-BETAREAD!

* * *

_

_Dear readers, welcome to **Harry Potter in Love**!  
This starts as a cheap rip-off of Shakespeare in Love, however it is getting a life on its own. It's AU and non-magical… at least, not in the way we know from the Harry Potter books, and completely written in Present Tense._

Also: go watch the movies:

  
SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE!

&

THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO

**Scene One

* * *

**

**LONDON-SUMMER 1593**

_In the glory days of the Dumbledorian theatre two playhouses are fighting it out for writers and audiences. East of the city is the Leaky Cauldron Theatre, home to England's most famous actor, Gilderoy Lockheart. Across the river is the competition; The Three Broomsticks, built by Rubeus Hagrid, a business with a cash flow problem..._

The Three Broomsticks is an aged building made of indestructible yellow stones and quite beautiful, might I add. The high walls have a designative flair of charisma and the round room holds place for hundreds of people. The stage is spacey and the rooms backstage are nice and big enough to serve their purpose. However… at the moment they are void of people and cold. The front door is open to the elements and the floor is littered with torn pages. Among the pages lies a light-blue parchment with the short message:

* * *

**_Sept. 7th & 8th at noon  
Sirius Black and the Marauder's Men at the Three Broomsticks Theatre.  
The lamentable tragedy of the moneylender revenged

* * *

_**

In other words, the building is relatively free of any presence… or is it?  
No, apparently not, since agonizing screams suddenly fill the air. The screams come from the curtained stage.

A harsh voice thunders through the curtain. "You Mongrel! Why do you howl, when it is I who is bitten?"

The theatre owner, Rubeus Hagrid, is the man who was screaming his lungs out. The reason being his boots are on fire. He is pinioned in a chair, with his feet stuck out over the hot colas of a fire burning in a brazier. He is being held in that position by a certain Mr. Crabbe, who is a thug employed by Tom Riddle, the owner of the voice. The fourth man present, Percy Weasley, is Riddle's bookkeeper.

Tom Riddle stops his stalking around the poor figure of Rubeus Hagrid and turns to the thug. "What am I, Mister Crabbe?"

Crabbe looks up at him. "Bitten, Mr. Riddle," answers he blankly.

"How badly bitten, mister Weasley?" Riddle asks to Percy.

"Twelve pounds, one shilling and four pence, Mr. Riddle, including interest," answers the red-head meekly.

Rubeus Hagrid starts to wiggle to get away, to no avail. "Aaaaaaagh! I can pay you!" he squeaks and eyes the fire under his boots with unhidden fear.

Riddle turns back to face him. "When?" he wishes to know.

"Two weeks, three at the most, Aaaagh! For pity's sake!"

Riddle turns to the thug. "Take his feet out" he orders and then crosses his arms as he stares at the big bearded man, who just had been weeping like a child. "Where will you get-"

Percy, the mathematical genius looks quickly on his notebook. "Sixteen pounds, five shillings and nine pence."

"-including the interest in three weeks?" continues Riddle.

"I have a wonderful new play!" Hagrid tells him with desperation in his eyes.

This doesn't seem to be enough security for Riddle and he waves at the fire. "Put his feet back in," orders he.

"It's a comedy!" yells Hagrid quickly.

"Cut his nose of…" Riddle commands unimpressed.

"A new comedy! By Harry Potter!"

"And his ears…"

"And a share! We will be partners, Mr Riddle!"

Tom Riddle seems to hesitate at hearing these words. "Partners? Hmm… perhaps. What is it about?"

Hagrid quickly rushes to tell him. "It's a crowd-tickler; mistaken identities, a kidnapping, pirates, a bit with a dog, and love triumphant!"

Riddle rubs thoughtfully his chin. "I think I've seen it. I didn't like it," he says.

"This time it is by Harry Potter."

"What's the title?"

"_The Prisoner of Conscience_."

"Good title," Riddle thinks out loud and snaps his fingers. Crabbe unties Hagrid and Percy starts to write a contract.

"A play takes time. Find actors… rehearsals…let's say open in three weeks. That's five hundred groundlings at two pence each, in addition four hundred groundlings two pence each, in addition four hundred backsides at three pence-a penny extra for a cushion, call it two hundred cushions, say two performance for safety how much is that Mr. Weasley?"

"Twenty pounds to the penny, Mr. Riddle."

"Correct!" nods Riddle.

"But I have to pay the actors and the author," says Hagrid frowning.

"A share of the profits."

"But… there's never any!"

"Of course not!"

Hagrid gulps but pretends to be impressed. "Mr. Riddle I think you may have hit on something."

Riddle slaps a contract down on the table next to an inkpot and quill.

"Sign here," he points at the contract and smirks evilly.

Hagrid takes the quill and signs.

"_The Prisoner of Conscience,_ is it almost finished?" Riddle wishes to know.

Hagrid sighs wishfully. "Without doubt he is completing it at this very moment…"

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	2. Scene Two

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene two ****

* * *

**

Harry Potter lives in the centre of the city. Once it had been a very wealthy neighbourhood but time had bitten at the buildings and now it is a ghetto. He has a small and cramped space in the eaves of a building. His cluttered shelves contain various objects, wedged between crumpled pieces of paper. Among those we have time to observe: a plaque with the words 'The Boy Who Lived', books about various subjects, a picture of a young red-haired girl with brown eyes, and a golden quill.

At infrequent intervals further pieces of crumpled paper are tossed towards the shelf. The man, who is throwing them, Harry Potter, is bent over a table, writing studiously with a quill.

He's probably writing on his play: _The Prisoner of Conscience_. Nice title by the way. Let's just look at the master at work, shall we?

We see what he is writing… and it's not his play. Harry is practicing his signature, over and over again. "Harold Potter…H. Potter… H.J. Potter…" Each time he is dissatisfied, and each time he crumples, and tosses it away.

Harry suddenly becomes impatient. He jumps up and walks to the loft area in the rafters, where he sleeps, and pulls on his boots. At this point the door opens and Hagrid walks in, he bumps his head in the process. The bearded man is out of breath and his feet hurt like hell.

"Harry! Where is my play? Tell me you have it nearly done! Tell me you have it started," the man sounds pretty desperate and almost looks pleading at the dark-haired man in front of him.

"You have begun?" he asks hopefully.

Harry struggles with his boots. "Does closing time come earlier to some than to others? Is a soldier's faith magic strong enough to protect against any blade?"

"No, no, we don't have the time. Talk prose! Where is my play?" insists Hagrid.

Harry smirks and taps against his forehead, while heading out the door. "It is all locked safe in here."

"Merlin be praised!" says Hagrid and looks relieved up at the ceiling but then looks doubtful at Harry. "Locked?"

"Till I've found my muse!" Harry answers and he skips away closely followed by the desperate Hagrid.

Harry lives in a crowded area of the city. Hawkers are crying their wares, tract-sellers, delivery boys, and merchants go about their business. It's very busy on the street and Harry has to dive and jump around people to avoid crashing into someone. Hagrid catches up with Harry as he strides purposefully along.

"Hagrid, you have no soul," the green-eyed man complains. "So how can you understand the emptiness in me that seeks a soul mate?"

"Well, I am a dead man and bugged to boot," tells Hagrid him. "My theatre is closed by the plague these twelve weeks, my company is playing the inn-yards of England, while Lockheart and the Phoenix's Men are invited to court and receive ten pounds to play your piece, written for my theatre, by my writer, at my risk when you were still as green as your eyes and grateful-"

"What piece? _Merlin's Tombstone_?" Harry asks over his shoulder.

"No, it's comedy they want, Harry! Comedy! Like _The Prisoner of Conscience_!"

Harry stops walking and looks naively at Hagrid. "Who wrote that?"

"Nobody! You are writing it for me! I gave you three pounds a month since!" Hagrid yells exaggerated and is about to pull his hair out.

"Half what you owed me," says Harry without compassion and pokes him in his chest before he starts to walk again. "I am still due for the _Four Founders of Hogwarts_!"

They walk through another street and Hagrid hardly pauses in his appeal.

"Harry! What is money to you and me? I, your patron, you my Wordwright! When the plague lifts, Lockheart will have a new play by Cedric Diggory for the Leaky Cauldron and I have nothing for The Three Broomsticks!"

Harry stops and turns around. He smiles sweetly at the man. "Hagrid, will you lend me fifty pounds?"

Hagrid staggers on his feet. "Fifty pounds? What for?"

The younger man crosses his arms and replaces the smile with a smug smirk. "Did you know that Lockheart offers me a partnership in the Phoenix's Men. For fifty pounds my hired player days are over."

Hagrid grabs dramatically for his chest. "Cut out my heart! Throw my liver to the dragons!"

Harry raises a brow and answers for the giant man. "Guess that's a no then." He turns down a narrow side street and walks toward a doorway.

"Where are you going?" Hagrid wishes to know.

"To my weekly confession."

The door closes in the face of Hagrid and he stares puzzled at the sign in front of him. The sign identifies the place as the premises of Dr. Sibyll Trelawney; apothecary, alchemist, astrologer, seer, interpreter of dreams, and priestesses of psyche.

* * *

We see the interior of the room. There hangs a stuffed alligator from the ceiling, pills, potions, amulets and charms, star charts and mystic paraphernalia festoon the place. Testimonials and framed degrees hang on the walls.

Harry is lying on his back on a couch and has his eyes closed

Dr. Sibyll Trelawney sits by the couch, listening to Harry and occasionally making a note on a pad she holds on her knee.

What we have here is nothing less than the false dawn of analysis. An hourglass is timing the session.

"Words, words, words…once, I had the gift…I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups out of clay. Love that overthrows empires, love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire and brimstones…for sixpence a line, I could cause a riot in a nunnery…but now-"

Harry sighs and rubs tiredly with his hands in his eyes.

"I am here to help you. Tell me in your own words," Dr. Trelawney urges him on to continue.

"I have lost my gift," the Wordwright answers and then tries to find the words to describe what he means, but can't find them easily. "It's as if my quill is broken. As if the organ of my imagination has dried up. As if the proud tower of my genius has collapsed."

Dr. Trelawney leans forwards and looks with gleaming eyes at Harry, who stares at the ceiling. "Interesting." Says she.

"Nothing comes."

"Most interesting."

"It is like trying to a pick a lock with a wet herring."

"Tell me, are you lately humbled in the act of love?" she asks shrewdly. Harry turns surprised towards her.

How did she know that?

"How long has it been?" she asks.

"A goodly length in times past, but lately…"

"No, no. You have a wife, children."

The sand runs through the hourglass.

It's now much later and there's not much sand left.

"I was a lad of eighteen. Ginevra was a girl, half as old as me," Harry tells her.

"A woman of property?"

Harry shrugs. "She had a cottage. I first met her in a Forrest around the place where she lives. When I fist saw her… I felt immediately drawn to her fiercely red hair. A viper was attacking her and I saved her. She then clung onto me like the child she was and her brothers forced me to marry her. She was thrilled, I wasn't."

"And your relations?"

"I'm the last Potter. I don't even know Ginevra's maiden name-"

"No, your marriage bed," explains Dr. Trelawney

"Four years and a hundred miles away in Hogsmeade. I was rich, but she and her family took every penny away from me and made my live miserable. Banishment was a blessing."

"So now you are free to love."

"Yet cannot love nor write it."

Dr. Sibyll Trelawney taps thoughtful against her chin and reaches for a crystal ball. Harry watches her interested as she stares deeply into it. "In the near future, you will find your muse. However, I see that there are some obstacles-"

"Obstacles?"

Dr. Trelawney ignores him and peers into thesee-through ball. "What is this? Hmm…" she stands up, walks towards a bookcase and pulls a book called 'Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul' out. She leaves through it and finds what she's searching for. "This is bad, Mr. Potter. I see the presence of a banshee."

Harry looks blinking at the ball and tries to see it for himself, but to no avail.

"A banshee is the predictor of dead, as its screams kill. I'm sorry Mr. Potter. But you will die painfully shortly after you've found your muse. A sovereign please."

She holds out her hand and Harry drops a sovereign into it. He doesn't seem to be very impressed by her prediction. But neither would you, when she predicts your dead during every session. Harry doesn't even mind it. He always found it funny to hear how he, according to her, was going to die. And she had made 'some' accurate predictions.

Harry comes out of the house, where Hagrid still is waiting, standing in a horse trough to ease his burned feet. Harry walks straight past him and Hagrid follows.

"Now where? Harry?" he asks weary.

"To the Palace at Diagon Ally."

**

* * *

**

**To Be Continued**


	3. Scene Three

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Three

* * *

**

We find ourselves behind closed curtains on a stage busy with preparations for the imminent performance of the _Three Founders of Hogwarts_. This is not a theatre but a banqueting hall, as we can see when peeking through the curtain.

Gilderoy Lockheart is to play the part of Godric Griffindor, while two other boy players will play the female parts of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff. Lockheart's mistress Cho Chang does last minute improvements to Lockheart's makeup and clothes and a bit away from the pair stands the famous comedian Filius Flitwick, who is to play 'Hat Sorting', the one who tries to help the three founders with his dragon, but who screws up as if he's a clown. His dog, Norbert (with wings tied onto his back) is in Flitwick's charge and is not helping much, as it runs excited around the man's legs.

There is practically no set. Instead, a helpful placard reading 'Hogsmeade-an open place', is ready to hand.

Musicians can be heard tuning their instruments. From the other side of the curtain there is an expectant hubbub. Flitwick leads the dog into the wings and rummages in a box of props.

We see Harry, who is just entering through a door backstage and walking towards Flitwick.

"Mr. Flitwick, break a leg! You too, good Norbert," the black-haired man says and bends forward to pet the little dog.

"Norbert is nervous. He has never before played at the Palace," Flitwick tells him with his high pitched voice and walks after Harry who passes him. "When will you write me a tragedy, Harry? I could do it."

"No, they would laugh at every tragedy if you played it," Harry tells him plainly.

Cho Chang, Lockheart's mistress, has caught Harry's attention. Cho is big breasted, dark-eyed, dark-haired, and sexual. She looks at Lockheart's sleeve, which he is waving, in front of her face. "My sleeve wants for a button, Mistress Cho, where were my seamstress's eyes?"

Lockheart sees Harry and Flitwick, kisses Cho's mouth possessively and slaps her behind. He comes over to greet Harry.

"How goes it Harry?"

"I am still owed money for this play, Lockheart," Harry says a bit miffed and crosses his arms.

"Not from me. I only stole it. So when are you coming over to the Phoenix's Men?"

"When I have fifty pounds."

Cho brings over the last elements of Lockheart's costume and helps him into them.

"Are you writing?" Lockheart asks.

Harry nods somewhat defensively. "A comedy. All but done, a pirate comedy, brilliant."

"What is the chief part?"

"Christian Lionheart. Wit, pirate, gets what he wants."

"The title?"

"_Lionheart_."

Wasn't it _The Prisoner of Conscience_? Oh well, Harry as the author has the authorization to change his mind.

"I will play him. Bring it tomorrow," Lockheart says.

"It's for Hagrid. He paid me."

"How much?"

"Ten pounds."

"You're a liar," Lockheart digs under his costume for his purse, which is on a waistband, over his corset.

Harry stares him down. "I swear it. He wants _Lionheart _for Sirius and the Marauder's Men."

"Sirius is wrong for it," is Lockheart's opinion.

Harry turns to see Hagrid approaching and Lockheart bows quickly over to Harry. "Here are two sovereigns," he whispers. "I'll give you two more when you show me the pages."

"Done," Harry grabs the money and just stuffs it in a pocket, as Hagrid arrives. Hagrid glares at Lockheart. "Lockheart, I will see you hanged for a pickpocket."

"The King has commanded, he loves a comedy and the Master of the Revels favours us."

"And what favour does Mr. Fitch-Fletchley receive from you?"

"Ask him."

The Master of the Revels, Justin Fitch-Fletchley comes through the curtain officiously. "He comes!"

He disappears back through the curtains. The hubbub falls silent, rather dramatically, and all the busy players know what that means: they all crowd to the curtain and find places to peep through.

* * *

We are still in Diagon Ally Palace and can see everything from the point of view of the players. The banqueting hall is very silent as King Dumbledore arrives. King Dumbledore is a tall yet aged man. He walks fluently through the mop of nobles and takes his place in the audience at front centre. The hill is crowded with lords and ladies, bowing Dumbledore to his seat, which is raised high on a pedestal, affording the King an uninterrupted view of the play, and the audience an uninterrupted view of King. Trumpets sound, the curtain draws back and Lockheart as 'Godric Griffindor' and Flitwick as 'Hat Sorting', enter the stage.

_"Bold Griffindor, from wild moor. Fair Ravenclaw, from glen. Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad. They shared a wish, a hope, a dream-" _

With Lockheart's presence accounted for on stage, Cho curls an arm around Harry's neck. They kiss hungrily and Harry pulls, after a moment, back.

"When will you write me a sonnet, Harry?" Cho asks him adoringly.

Harry shakes his head sadly. "I have lost my gift."

"You left it in my bed. Come to look for it again," she tells him and he gives her a long glance.

"Are you to be my muse, Cho?" he wonders out loud.

"Lockheart has my keeping but you have my heart," she says passionately.

Then they kiss again, but then Harry is distracted by the sound of coughing from the auditorium and makes vehement gestures with a hand to the curtain.

"You see? The consumptives plot against me. 'Harry Potter has a play, let us go and cough through it'."

He walks irritated away from Cho.

* * *

Someone is on stage. _"As you all know, Hogwarts is founded-by the three greatest nobles of the age. They joined forces and with their wit, loyalty and bravery, worked together as one. However, love came into play and-"_

As the scene continues, Harry appears at the back of the hall and finds himself next to Hagrid.

"I feel a scene coming on," says he and leans against the wall and crosses his arms.His sharp green eyes survey thoughtful the stage.

"Is it about pirates?" asks Hagrid hopefully, but Harry doesn't answer.

It is a bit later, and Flitwick is now on stage with his dog. The audience is roaring with laughter as Norbert runs around the comedian, twisting a leash around his legs and making him fall.

"You see? Comedy," Hagrid says. "Love and a bit with a dog, that's what they like."

It's clear that Harry thinks that the whole court is crazy. After all: what's so great about a dog that it has to be in every comedy? But he refrains himself from saying something and let his eyes sweep over the crowd.

Now our eyes, as well as Harry's, fall on Draco. Draco Malfoy is twenty-three and more beautiful instead of handsome with his feminine features, long platinum hair and piercing silver eyes. Draco Malfoy is a prince from another land and is here to find a bride. Completely against his will, of course. But his father, King Lucius Malfoy of Slytherin, had insisted that he went to find a woman. Draco could do nothing but obey… and complain a lot.

He doesn't laugh, but looks with a blank face at the stage.

Next to him sits Severus Snape, his counsellor. He is in his forties, dark, cruel, mysterious and very absorptive. He notices Harry looking in their direction and he gives him a dark glare. Harry just raises a brow at him.

It's again a bit later, time flies when you don't feel like writing very detailed, and Lockheart is on stage, portraying his love for the fair Rowena Ravenclaw.

He is speaking the speech rather more coarsely than the version we will hear later…

_"I see love not like a dream. It is not roses by candlelight. Not sleepless nights in the hope of a glance, a smile, a laugh. Ney, love in its most true form is raw passion. When emotions flow freely. Where sensations are provoked by careful fingers, exploring face and neck with reverence. Hot, and rushed, and tender…" _

Draco's cold mask is replaced by an interested gaze and a small smirk tugs on the corner of his mouth.

"The young prince seems to like your play," Hagrid says, but when he turns to Harry, he finds that Harry has long gone.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	4. Scene Four

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Four

* * *

**

Harry comes into his room, goes straight to his table in front of the window, and arranges pen, ink, and paper. Now he has his ritual: he walks in a circle in the middle of his room, rubs his hands together and stares thoughtfully at his papers. Then he sits down, picks up his quill and strokes with it over his cheek. There's a long pause, but then he begins to write.

* * *

Meanwhile we focus our attention on the Palace. It is late at night and it rises into the sky like a fairy tale tower with fairies as the fair lights, adorning the sky. Hey, I could be a poet! Maybe I should just chunk Harry out of the story and take his place. Oh wait; I'm a writer, not a poet…

I am sure that we all want to peep into Draco Malfoy's room. Right? Well, why don't we just do that!

Draco Malfoy is sadly enough not standing naked in front of the window of his bedroom. Instead, he's in another room with his counsellor. They both share a glass of expensive wine and are settled down in comfortable chairs while wearing comfortable clothes.

"So, Severus," says Draco and he sips his wine. "What did you think of the play?"

"I try not to think of it," replies Severus Snape monotonously.

Draco rolls his eyes. "Now really, it wasn't that bad. I agree that the players were… terrible. But the play self has potential."

Snape snorts. "Terrible? Lockheart was plain horrible."

"Indeed. Couldn't they find a better player? Now really, we have better players at Slytherin. But the play… do you know who wrote it?"

Snape thinks for a bit. "Harry Potter, they said."

"Now that is someone I would like to meet."

"Explain."

"Are you dead, Severus?" Draco asks with a lazy smile. "Have you been sleeping through the whole play?"

Snape scowls darkly at him and Draco laughs. "Really, if the players hadn't distracted me, I would have enjoyed the play. Harry Potter seems to have a way with words."

"You're not thinking of finding the guy and bribing him to come to Slytherin, are you?" Snape asks. "Merlin knows we don't need another stuck up playwright. And if he's anything like Lockheart…"

"Relax, Severus. I'm not thinking along those lines, although, it is an idea."

Snape rolls his eyes and drowns the rest of his wine.

Draco smirks lazy. "I could take him with me... as a wedding present. He should be able to write plays good enough for our court."

"Oh please…" Snape drawls. "You should see. That Potter will be a fat and lazy git, who'll only take your money and food to give you in return some third rank plays which are copied from whatever other playwright."

"You always think the worst of people."

"And I'm always right."

"Sure…" Draco stares thoughtfully at the fire and Snape eyes him suspiciously.

"What are you thinking?"

Draco shrugs. "Just thinking that I would be a lot of a better player than Lockheart."

"That won't be difficult. Even I would be better than him."

"They say he's the best."

"They have low standards then."

"I want to be in a play."

Snape raises a brow at the fair-haired prince. "And what makes you want that?"

Draco shrugs again and pours some wine in his glass. "I'm a good actor. Hell, I have to act... pretend… every day of my fucking life."

"Language."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just know that my stay here will bore me to death. So why not make it more interesting?"

"By being in a play? Your father would never allow that. The court will be scandalized!"

"As much as I would love to scandalize people," Draco smiles wryly. "I'll just have to dress up and act as someone who wants to act. Should be very simple."

"If your father gets word of-"

"He wont," says Draco quickly and gives Snape an inquiring glance. "Now, I heard there are two playhouses in the city. They should be looking for players…."

* * *

Hagrid is making his way from the theatre to the market place when Riddle and Crabbe appear at either shoulder and propel him back the way he came. Percy Weasley follows behind.

"This time we'll take your boots off!" threatens Riddle. He continues. "I'm going to torture you so slowly; you will think it's a career."

"What have I done, Mr. Riddle?" Hagrid asks perplexed.

"The theatres are all closed by the plague!"

"Oh, that..."

"By order of the Master of the Revels!"

"Mr. Riddle, let me explain about the theatre business." They stop and look questioning at him. "The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. Believe me, to be close by the plague is a bagatelle in the ups and downs of owning a theatre."

"So what do we do?" asks Riddle.

"Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well."

"How?"

Hagrid shrugs. "I don't know. It's a mystery."

"Should I kill him, Mr. Riddle?" asks Crabbe dumbly.

At this point din is heard in the background. A messenger, ringing a bell, is running though the street. "The theatres are reopened. By order of the Master of the Revels, the theatres are reopened!"

Riddle is intrigued.

"Mr. Riddle! Mr. Fitch-Fletchley has opened the playhouses," Percy says excited..

"Yes, I heard," answers Riddle thoughtfully.

Hagrid plays his temporary advantage modestly, shrugging himself free of Riddle's grip.

"If you wouldn't mind," he says to Riddle and continues on his way. Riddle watches him curiously as he walks away.

"Where is the play?" asks he after the man.

"Oh, it's coming, it's coming," says Hagrid over his shoulder.

* * *

It is.

Harry is writing furiously. A burnt-down candle is still alight, although it is day outside the window. He has been writing all night. He has written about ten pages. Pleased with himself and excited, he gathers them up and leaves the room like a man with a mission.

Leaving the house, pages in hand, Harry nearly knocks down Hagrid who has come to see him.

"Harry! The theatres are-"

Before he can finish, Harry brandishes the pages in his hand.

"_The Prisoner of Love_; Scene One!" He kisses the papers. "Merlin, I'm good!" He hurries away.

"Love?" Hagrid rubs his brow in confusion. "Don't you mean Conscience!"

But Harry has already gone.

* * *

Lockheart lives in another, more wealthier, part of the city and Harry bangs through his frontdoor without ceremony.

"Gilderoy!" Harry shouts as he runs up the stairs and charges into the bedroom to find Cho in bed, while The Master of the Revels quickly pulls up his breeches. Harry looks shattered at them. "Mr. Fitch-Fletchley?" he asks incredulous.

"Like you, I found him not at home!" says Fitch-Fletchley as he tries to put on a boot.

"So this is the favour you find in the Phoenix's Men…" Harry says sadly.

"Harry!" shouts Cho sorrowfully.

Harry turns to her. "I would have made you immortal," says he full of sorrow. He turns to go but says over his shoulder: "Tell Lockheart he has lost a new play by Harry Potter!"

"What does Lockheart care of that?" Justin Fitch-Fletchley asks confused. "He is readying the Leaky Cauldron for Cedric Diggory."

"You have reopened the playhouses?"

"I have, Master Potter," answers Justin.

"But the plague…?"

Justin sighs. "Yes, I know. But he was always hanging around the house…"

A bell can be heard ringing outside.

Harry is leaving and Cho calls out to him. "Harry…you're the only one, Harry! … in my heart!"

Harry emerges from Lockheart's house looking distraught. A burning brazier stands by the wall and Harry thrusts the pages into the coals. He watches for a moment as the pages catch fire, then turns away and goes to a tavern, determined to drown his sorrows.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	5. Scene Five

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Five

* * *

**

We find ourselves in a tavern. Hagrid walks in to find the place in an uproar of celebration. A handsome young serving man, Lee Jordan, is bumping through with a tray of tankards.

Lee Jordan shouts excitedly as he sees Hagrid. "Mister Hagrid! Have you heard!"

"Yes, I heard. The theatres are open. But where is my playwright?" wonders Hagrid as he finds a seat and takes a tankard off Lee Jordan's tray.

"Chalk it up, Lee. I'm hungry, too," he says.

"The special today is a pig's foot marinated in juniper-berry vinegar, served with a buckwheat pancake which has been-"

Harry who joins them, interrupts, looking a bit distracted.

"Harry! Have you finished?" Hagrid desperately wishes to know.

"Yes… nearly." He taps his forehead. "It's all locked safe in here. We need Ludovic Bagman for the Pirate King. Good morning Jordan. You will have a nice little part too."

Lee shouts for joy, takes off his apron and flings it behind the bar. Hagrid jumps up and embraces Harry. The entire staff and half the customers are now crowding around, actors the lot of them and Hagrid bangs the table to shut them all up.

"Sirius Black and the Marauder's Men are out on tour; I need actors. Those here who are unknown will have a chance to be known!"

"What about the money, mister Hagrid?" someone asks.

"It won't cost you a penny!" Hagrid says jovially. The crowd laughs and slaps the speaker on his back.

"Auditions in half-an-hour!"

The din of excited chatter returns and Hagrid sweeps grandly to the tavern door… where he meets Ludovic Bagman, a big, burly, middle-aged actor.

"Ludovic Bagman! I'd have a part for you but, alas, I hear you are a drunkard's drunkard."

"Never when I'm working," answers Bagman laughing.

The crowd in the bar follow Hagrid, as he leaves the bar, off to the playhouse in the hope that they'll get a good part in the play. Harry has remained behind, aghast now at his predicament, he goes to the bar.

"Give me to drink Mandragora," he says darkly and buries his head in his hands.

"Straight up, Harry?" asks the barman jovial.

Suddenly a voice speaks up. "Give my friend here a beaker of your best brandy."

Harry turns startled towards a figure further down the bar, it is Cedric Diggory.

"Cedric," says Harry and nods to the handsome man.

"How goes it, Harry?" asks Cedric and gives him a brilliant smile.

"Wonderful, just wonderful..."

"Hagrid says you have a play."

"I have, and chinks to show for it." His drink arrives and Harry places a sovereign on the bar. "I insist-and a beaker for Mr. Diggory."

The barman does the business.

"I hear you have a new play for the Leaky Cauldron," Harry says.

"Not new; my _Firebolt_."

"I love your early work. _'I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper to death'._" quote's Harry and sips his drink.

"I have a new one nearly done, and better. _The Massacre at Godric's Hollow_."

"Good title." Harry laughs slightly. "Godric would love the fact that he's still remembered in both your as my play."

"And yours?"

"_The Prisoner of Conscience_." He sighs despondently at the title. "Yes, I know."

"What is the story?"

"Well, there's a pirate-" Harry looks helplessly at Cedric. "In truth, I have not written a word," he confesses.

"Hmmm, it is about revenge…" says Cedric thoughtfully and both stare ahead as they think.

"Revenge? That's good. Betrayed by his best friend-"

"-the lead gets thrown in Azkaban."

"The prison Azkaban? Yes, but Dantes escapes..."

"-gets in contact with pirates… and finds a treasure…"

"-and with that creates a new image in which he can take his revenge on his old friend."

Harry looks with apprehension at his companion why slaps his shoulder in camaraderie and grins. "Now you're getting somewhere."

Lee Jordan hurries back to Harry's side. "Harry, they're waiting for you at the Three Broomsticks!" says he enthusiastically.

"I'm coming," Harry answers and drains his glass. He puts it on the bar and nods at Cedric. "Good luck with yours, Cedric," he says and turns to walk away.

"I thought your play was for Lockheart," calls Cedric after him.

"This is a different one."

Cedric tries to work it out. "A different one you haven't written yet?"

Harry makes a helpless gesture and hurries after Jordan.

* * *

We are in The Three Broomsticks: Hagrid and Harry are sitting in the gallery, listening to a young actor auditioning.

"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even stopper death."

"Thank you," says Hagrid

Hagrid and Harry look a bit deflated at each other. The young actor leaves the stage and is replaced by an other actor

"I would like to give you something from _Firebolt_ by Cedric Diggory," says the actor with flourish.

"How refreshing," Hagrid comments sarcastic to Harry.

"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…"

They let him continue a bit further, but exchange despairing looks. A succession of would-actors offers their version of Diggory's lines, each as inappropriate as the other. Among them is the small urchin Colin.

"… put a stopper to death."

Hagrid bellows. "Thank you!"

Collin leaves, glowering furiously, and is replaced by an anorectic man: Quirrel. He has a bad stutter.

"I c-c-c-c-c-can t-t-t-t-t-t-teach y-y-you-"

Hagrid speaks unexpectedly up. "Very good, Mr. Quirrel! Excellent! Report to the property master."

Harry looks at Hagrid with surprise and then outrage.

"My tailor," shrugs Hagrid. "Wants to be an actor. I have a few debts here and there," explains he apologizing. "Well, that seems to be everybody. Did you see a Dantes?"

"I did not," Harry answers curtly.

"Well, I to my work, you to yours. When can I see the pages?"

"Tomorrow."

Hagrid leaves him and Harry buries his head in his hands. "Please Merlin," prays he. He lies down on the bench in the gallery and broods alone for a moment. Then he hears he is being addressed from the stage on which another actor stands.

"May I begin, sir?" the actor asks politely.

Harry looks at the stage and sees a handsome young man, with a hat shadowing his eyes, standing there.

"What is your name?"

"Damien Sinclair. I would like to do a speech by a writer who commands the heart of every player."

Harry nods in encouragement.

"I see love not like a dream. It is not roses by candlelight. Not sleepless nights in the hope of a glance, a smile, a laugh. Nay, love in its most true form is raw passion."

For Harry, amazement at hearing his own words soon gives away to something else. He is captivated.

He has found his 'Dantes'.

"… when emotions flow freely. Where sensations are provoked by careful fingers, exploring face and neck with reverence. Hot, and rushed, and tender…" says the boy passionately.

Harry interrupts him.

"Take off your hat."

"My hat?"

"Where did you learn how to act like that?"

"I…" The boy seems to realize something as Harry tries to find his way towards him.

"Wait there," Harry commands.

"Are you Mr. Potter?" asks Damien.

"Let me see your face. Take off your hat!"

Damien begins to panic as Harry jumps down to ground level. He runs offstage, to Harry's bewilderment. Harry hurries after him.

* * *

We go with Harry as he crosses the stage, then backstage, and then into the retiring room, which is crowded with actors and Hagrid's lieutenant, property manager, copier, and general.

"What are we playing?" an actor asks.

"Where are the pages?" wonders Jordan Lee.

Harry enters into the middle of this and shouts. "Where's the boy?"

Nobody knows what he is talking about. Quirrel, the stutterer, grabs Harry's hand and shakes it excitedly.

"B-b-b-b-break a l-l-l-leg!"

The street door is swinging shut and Harry sees it. He shakes Quirrel off and fights his way through the men to get to the door.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	6. Scene Six

**Harry Potter in Love

* * *

**

_Eve, Eve, Eve... what have we learned from 'The Photo': Even if we lose some of it, WE KEEP GOING! No matter how hard! C'mon babe, I'm hooked on this story as much as the next reader...U CANT JUST LET IT DIE! Cries harder than ever. Please!  
From your lover always,  
Dani_

_Dear Dani and readers,  
I lost a great part of what I had written, but started to write on it again. It might not be as good as it was when I first wrote it and lost it again, but I did my best.  
Hope you like the chapter,  
VG Jekyll_

**Scene Six

* * *

**

Harry emerges from the theatre into a street throbbing with nefarious life. Whores, cutpurses, hawkers, urchins, tract-sellers, riffraff of all kinds in an area of stews (low-down pubs), brothels and slums. It is some time before Harry spots Damien, way ahead of him in the crowded street. The chase is taking them to the riverbank.

When Harry gets to the riverbank he sees that Damien is in a smallish boat being rowed upriver and in midstream. The river is quite busy, and among the boats there are a number of waiting 'taxis'. Harry jumps into the nearest one.

"Follow that boat!" shouts he at the boatman.

"Right you are, governor!" answers the man.

Harry sits down in the stern of the boat and the boatman sits facing him, rowing lustily.

"I know your face. Are you an actor?" asks the boatman suddenly.

You can almost see Harry thinking '_Oh Merlin, here we go again'_, but he answers politely. "Yes"

The boatman nods enthusiastic. "Yes, I've seen you in something. That one about a king."

"Really?" says Harry uninterested and tries to see if they have caught up with Damien yet.

The boatman is silent for a while. "I had the Cedric Diggory in my boat once," says he then, just for having something to say and Harry tries to resist the urge to groan and roll his eyes.

* * *

It is some time later and the boatman is puffing. Harry looks ahead to where Damien's boat has reached a jetty on the farther shore; a private jetty attached to… the Palace. Harry sees Damien jump out of his boat and run toward the building. Harry makes a move to follow but then thinks twice and waits till the boat is closer to the jetty, before jumping and continuing his chase.

Damien rushes up the back stairs, removing his hat. His platinum hair clearly shows that it is in fact Prince Draco Malfoy. He runs with head breaking speed through the small and empty corridors, which are usually only used by servants. Then he looks into a more often used corridor and chases through it as he sees that there's no one in sight. He glides to a stop in front of his rooms and opens it quickly with his keys. Inside, he let himself drop on a chair and slumps relieved down in it.

"Merlin, what a blast!" pants he to the empty room. "That was so close!"

He stares in amazement at a candle, the adrenaline still shooting through his body, and then does something very uncommon for him; he throws his head in his neck and laughs gleefully.

* * *

"Damien Sinclair, sir? No sir," answers the maid his question and Harry rubs tiredly his forehead. No one seems to know who Damien is and Harry is slowly growing a pounding headache. "The actor," he verifies his previously asked question.

The maid is about to shake her head again as she whitens. She makes a quick reverence and then hurries away. Harry looks frowning after and is about to call her back as he hears an icy voice behind him.

"Who asks for him?"

Harry turns around to face a man with a demon-like expression on his face and oily black hair covering the sides of his face. He gulps. "Harry Potter, actor, poet, and playwright of The Three Broomsticks."

"Damien Sinclair is… my nephew," the man says after a moment and scrutinizes Harry. Harry gives him the letter. "Will you give this to him? I will wait."

The man stares with barely hidden disgust at the piece of paper and then gives Harry a dark sneer. "Much good may it do you." He turns around and leaves Harry behind in the silent corridor.

* * *

Harry has waited for a very long time but still hasn't received a letter back by nightfall. Some servants have thrown him out, but he still waits in the gardens. He jumps off the stone wall he had been sitting on, with the intention to leave as he spots a gaggle of musicians approaching. He recognizes them as he sees them walk closer.

"Master Higgs! What business here?" asks he jovially to a young man who is struggling with an instrument.

"A five shilling business, Harry. We play for the dancing."

"Dancing?" Harry glances back at the Palace and then to the musicians. "There-" he starts asking, but is interrupted by a lot of noise. The sound of hooves gives hardly any warning as a carriage thunders through the gates and the musicians have to leap out of its way. Higgs' instrument barely gets trampled under one of the horses' feet, but Harry saves it quickly from the horrendous fate.

Higgs smiles relieved at him as he gives the instrument back, but Harry doesn't notice as he watches who gets out of the carriage. It is a pug faced lady, probably just introduced in the society and clearly lacking any 'nobility' manners. She doesn't wait for her rider to help her down, but gets out herself. She looks sneering at the backdoor of the Palace, and then orders with an oblivious fake French accent to the rider to take care of her horses. She enters the Palace through the backdoor.

* * *

Harry gets in with the musicians. Competently enough he strums along with them on the bandstand in the Banqueting Room. Thousands of guests crowd the space for dancing. Harry glances around, looking for Damien Sinclair in the crowd, but not finding him. He stops a passing servant, helping himself to a snack off the man's tray.

"Musicians don't eat, madam McGonnagal's orders," says the servant haughty.

"I seek Master Damien Sinclair."

It means nothing to the servant who moves on.

Harry sighs and watches the dancing. Then he sees our fair-haired prince in the crowd and he nudges one of the musicians. "Who is that?" he asks curiously.

"Prince Draco Malfoy of Slytherin."

"Draco," repeats he and watches the prince shake off the arm of the lady who had come through the backdoor. The prince has something that draws Harry's attention; however, he cannot exactly pinpoint what. Harry shakes his head dismissively and leaves the bandstand to walk through the dancers and onlookers to a table. He snatches a glass and a bottle of expensive wine off the table and leaves for the balcony.

Draco gives Lady Parkinson a dark glare and shakes her hand off. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm not interested," says he coldly and turns his back on her. He is about to take another sip of his wine when he notices that his glass is empty. He grimaces and goes to the table with refreshments. Getting drunk seems to be the only way to get through this evening. He sneers at a lady that is smiling suggestively at him and snorts as he hears her giggle. What is wrong with women? No matter how cold he acted, they kept bothering him.

At that point he notices Harry, who leaves the ballroom with a bottle of wine and a glass in his hand and a grin appears on his Draco's face. How had _he_ gotten in?

He goes after the dark haired playwright.

As he walks onto the balcony he notices one thing: Harry's not there. Thinking that his eyes might have betrayed him, he turns around… and spots his prey. Harry Potter is sitting on the balcony edge with his back against the wall. One leg is positioned on the sill, while the other swings lazily from side to side over the edge.

Draco smirks predatory as he stares at the playwright. He moves into the man's direction, who turns his head as he sees the movement out of the corner of his eye. He blinks at Draco who grins superiorly at him and points at the bottle of wine and the still empty glass in Harry's hands. "Someone with manners would offer me some of that."

Harry stares down at the objects in his hands and then back at Draco. "I have but one glass," he answers.

"That doesn't matter," says Draco as he snatches both away with a cat-like grace. He fills the glass with the expensive liquid and gives Harry the bottle back. As their hands touch briefly, Harry almost drops the bottle, but succeeds in keeping it from facing that end. He realises in that moment what drew Harry's attention to the young prince in the ballroom: he was attracted to him. A bad thing to find out when a. the one you'd just find out you feel an attraction to be near you and b. you had no idea that you might like the same gender.

In Harry's case, both.

He draws his gaze away from the blonde, who stares confused at him, and looks out over the garden. It is lit with various torches, strategically placed to make the garden come to its full splendour even when the sky was dark. He takes a gulp of the wine to calm his senses.

"What brings you out here, your majesty?" he finally asks and dares to glance at the beautiful man standing next to him.

Draco walks to the railing and leans with his back against it. "It got… crowded in there."

"Oh I see…"

Draco turns his head slightly to gaze with his piercing silver eyes at Harry, who's emerald ones are stuck in it for a short while. "Do you?" Draco questions and Harry stares entranced at him.

Draco raised a brow at him as he doesn't answer. "Good sir… ?"

Harrys seems to have lost his tongue. Poor guy.

"I heard you are a poet?"

Harry nods affirming and the prince smirks. "But a poet of no words?" jests he.

"I…" Harry wets his lips and looks away, leaving Draco to be the one to stare rapturous at him. "I seem to have lost my gift," he answers finally, taking a sip of the wine to hide the expression on his face.

Draco stares shocked at him. "But I heard you were writing on a new play!"

The young playwright turns surprised back to him. "You did, my prince?"

Draco likes the way Harry had said 'my prince' and his imagination runs freely to bring up mental images of positions in which the man before him could say it. He blushes slightly as he answers: "I heard it from my councillor."

"Wait!" Harry jumps off the railing and Draco spills a bit of his wine in surprise. "Are you talking about the uncle of Damien Sinclair?"

"I am."

"Do you know where he is, the boy I mean?" verifies he.

"I'm not his keeper… but what could you possibly need him for?"

Harry leans against the railing and puts his hands in his pockets. "I wish to have him in a play. Your councillor brought him a letter about it, but I have yet to hear a reply."

The eyes of the fair haired prince become slits as he realises that his councillor has kept it away from him. He will deal with him later. "I am sure the boy feels honoured. Maybe I'll be able to pass through your words…"

"I would be honoured if you would, my prince."

Draco shudders as he hears the words again. "What would you want me to tell him."

"He has the lead part, Edward Dantes. Can you ask him to come to The Three Broomsticks tomorrow, 9 o'clock?"

"I can."

"Thank you very much."

"Prince Draco? What are you doing out here."

Both turn around to watch Madam McGonagall stare at them with Lady Parkinson standing close behind her. The pug-paced lady stares hateful towards Harry, who got more attention from the prince than her.

Draco smiles charming towards madam McGonagall, knowing with who he has to stay on the good foot and who not. "I was just conversing with this young man," tells he her and leaves Harry's side to lead her off the balcony.

Madam McGonagall gives Harry an icy stare. "Conversing with a young man that isn't even invited…" she asks him,

Harry can't hear what the prince answers as they get out of hearing sight. He puts the near empty bottle on the balcony and is about to leave as he finds, to his surprise, a small but sharp dagger at this throat. He stares startled at Lady Parkinson, who holds the dagger. "How do I offend, my lady?" he asks perplexed.

"By coveting my property. I've seen how you watched him leave. He's mine," hisses Parkinson. "If I see you near him, I will cut your throat anon. You have a name?"

Harry gulps uneasily, still with the dagger at his throat, and thinks quickly. "Cedric Diggory, at your service."

Parkinson scowls at him and then leaves abruptly, leaving him behind to rub over his neck and wonder what he had gotten himself into.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	7. Scene Seven

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Seven

* * *

**

It is late at night. The ball is long over and we peep into Draco's room again. We find him sprawled out on his bed with Snape leaning against the door.

"I've met someone today," tells Draco him with a dreamy look on his face, blissfully unaware of the sceptic look on his counsellor's face.

"Is she lovely?" asks the man, wondering what girl could make the prince act the way he did.

"He is."

Snape raises surprised a brow. "He?"

"Yes, a he." Draco sighs deeply knowing the complication. "Did you know that they don't care what gender their partner is in the Hufflepuff kingdom?"

Snape rolls his eyes. "Oh please, in Hufflepuff they don't even care about ranks."

Draco looks quickly away and Snape stares suspicious at the blonde. "Don't tell me…"

"He is indeed no noble."

This fact seems to shock the councillor more than the fact that the mysterious person Draco seems to like is a man. "What will your father say…"

Draco sits up and gives Snape a fixated look. "He would say 'Take him as lover and marry a girl who wouldn't mind'."

Snape snorts at that imitation and nods. "You might be right, Draco."

"Of course I am," answers Draco smugly and let himself drop on his back again. "The problem is that I won't be able to do that."

"Why not."

"Because I want him! I don't want to be forced to marry some girl to produce an heir, while sneaking away to meet him!"

"You can't change your blood. You're-"

"Of royal blood and thus has to produce an heir. To Hell with it!"

"Watch your language."

"Or what, you'll go and tell my parents? Oh I'm, so scared!"

"I'm trying to be realistic here, Draco, try to understand. It might be tough, but-"

"Cynicism is not realistic and tough," Draco tells him off-handedly. "It's unrealistic and kind of cowardly because it means you don't have to try."

Snape pushes himself away from the door and gives the prince a dark look. "I see you're not interested in my counsel so I'll take my leave." He is about to leave the room as he hears Draco call out to him.

"Why didn't you tell me I have the lead part?"

Snape freezes but then walks away, not giving the younger man an answer. However the prince doesn't even seem to care. Draco stretches his arms above his head and yawns languidly, looking like a cat that'd gotten at the cream. "Tomorrow… 9 o'clock…" whispers he with a smile and falls asleep.

* * *

We are in Harry's room and a quick peek out of the window shows that it's dawn. Harry is burning the midnight oil; literally and metaphorically. His quill has already covered a dozen sheets; he is inspired!

* * *

And yet again, we find ourselves in The Three Broomsticks Theatre. It is auditorium day and the company is on stage. The clock already stroke nine yet Damien hasn't arrived yet. The props master is passing pages around a bunch of actors and Geoffrey Hooper and Theodore Nott are looking through their pages.

_"Well, M. Morrel,"_ Nott reads out loud as he faces Geoffrey Hooper. _"You have heard of the misfortune that has befallen us?"_

"_Yes, yes: poor Captain Leclere! He was a brave and an honest man."_

_"And a first-rate seaman, one who had seen long and honourable service, as became a man charged with the interests of a house so important as that of Morrel & Son,"_ replies Nott.

_"But, it seems to me that a sailor needs not be so old as you say, Danglars, to understand his business, for our friend Edmond seems to understand it thoroughly, and not to require instruction from any one," _Geoffrey says as he glances at an imaginary third person.

May it be that at that precise moment, Neville Longbottom walks by, and the two burst out in laughter, not in the least being able to see their clumsy young friend as the lead part Edward Dantes.

Neville gives them an odd look and walks past Harry, who is going around pumping hands and slapping shoulders, flushed with excitement. Hagrid is reading his pages; he looks a bit worried. Ludovic Bagman comes to stand next to him.

"It starts well enough, but where's the comedy, Harry? Where's the dog?" Hagrid questions and turns to Ludovic. "Do you think it is funny?" he asks as he almost pushes the papers in the man's face.

"My Pirate King will only arrive much later," answers Ludovic sourly. "What am I supposed to do till then? And it's a small role!" he moans.

"It could have been worse," tries a friend to comfort him. "He could have made you a woman."

Harry pulls Hagrid aside and looks angry around. "We are at least six men short and those we have are over parted, ranters and stutterers who should be sent back to the stews!" He ruffles with a hand through his hair, making it look even more untamed, and sighs deeply. "My Dantes has let me down… I see disaster!"

"We are at least four acts short, Harry," Hagrid says scowling at his playwright. "If you are looking for disaster…"

Harry notices a young scruffy thirteen-year-old actor. It is the urchin, Colin, that had auditioned the day before.

"Who are you?" asks Harry with a frown.

"I am Mercedes, sir, Dantes' woman."

Harry is furious. "I'll be damned if you are!" And he helps Colin off with a kick. Colin glowers with resentment and Hagrid finds himself face to face with Riddle.

"Is it going well?" Riddle asks.

"Very well."

Riddle looks around. "But nothing is happening!"

"Yes, but very well," says Hagrid vague and grins widely at the man.

Harry shouts to get some attention and slowly he gets it. "Gentlemen! Thank you! You are welcome…"

"Who is that?" asks Riddle curiously.

"Nobody... the author," Hagrid answers.

Harry doesn't hear them and smiles broadly to the actors. "We are about to embark on a great voyage…"

"… it is customary to make a little speech on the first day. It does no harm and authors like it," explains Hagrid.

"You want to know what parts you are to receive. All will be settled as we go," tells Harry.

That's as far as he gets before there is a dramatic interruption: the public entrance door is flung open and six men make a loud entrance, headed by Sirius Black, the actor, who is a handsome piratical figure with a big voice and a big sword.

"Huzzah! The Marauder's Men have returned to the house!" yells Sirius Black loudly and grins smugly around.

He gets various reactions. Hagrid and Harry shout his name joyfully, some of the actors are friends with the new group and behave accordingly, others know they are out of a job and mutter curses under their breath. Riddle recovers, or tries to.

"Who is this!" he indignantly asks.

Sirius slaps him aside with his sword. "Silence, you Muggle!" roars he. "I am Dumbledore! I am Grindewalt! I am Scalamander! I am Mundungus,-oh yes, Master Harry, and I am Godric Gryffindor." He smirks broadly and winks at Harry. "What is the play and what is my part?"

Riddle is quite impressed by Sirius Black, who wouldn't be?

"A moment, sir!" Riddle says.

Sirius turns around and eyes him distastefully. "Who are you?" he roars.

Riddle gulps and bleats: "I am the money!"

Sirius raises a brow at him and then nods. "Then you may remain so long as you remain silent. Pay attention and you will see how genius creates a legend."

"Thank you, sir," thanks Riddle respectfully.

"We are in desperate want of a Villefort, a cruel but very intelligent Chief magistrate," Harry tells as he smirks at his friend. "I know how you enjoy playing such parts."

"And the title of this piece?" wishes Sirius to know.

"Monsieur De Villefort."

"Is it?" ask Hagrid surprised.

Sirius pays no attention to him and grins. "I will play him!"

Half a dozen of the Marauder's Men will be given roles in our play and we meet them and identify them as Harry enthusiastically shakes hands."

Harry shakes their hands and slaps them friendly on the shoulder. "Mr. Zabini! Mr. Wood! Welcome, Dean Thomas! Victor Kruml!"

And now he greets Seamus Finnigan, the 'female' star of the Marauder's Men. "Seamus! My pretty one! Are you ready to fall in love again?"

"I am, Master Potter," answers he hoarsely and Harry frowns concerned.

"But your voice…" Harry trails off and thrust a hand between Seamus's legs. "Have they dropped?" he asks worriedly.

Seamus answers now with a girlie voice. "No, no," answers he quickly. "-a touch of cold only!"

We suspect he is lying but Harry has turned away, content with his answer.

"Master Hagrid, you have your actors," he announces and then leaves, passing by the humbled Riddle.

"I saw his Dumbledore, you know," comments he to Harry' who's arm he grasps as the dark haired man tries to walk by. "Wonderful."

"Yes, I saw it."

"Of course, it was mighty writing. There is no one like Diggory," he continues and Harry shakes his hand off. He is used to it and goes.

Harry arrives in a hurry at the wharf side, and looks vainly in the direction of the Palace; still no sight of Damien. He walks back and to The Three Broomsticks and looks down the alley: no Damien. He goes rejected back into the theatre.

Will Damien come or totally screw up our play by staying away?

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	8. Scene Eight

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Eight

* * *

**

We are back in the Three Broomsticks Theatre. On stage we see the actors carry their parts.

"_It appears that he has given you satisfactory reasons for his landing at Porto-Ferrajo?"_

_"Yes, most satisfactory, my dear Danglars."_

_"Well, so much the better,"_ 'Danglars' says, still reading from his script while his counterpart already seems to know it by heart. _"For it is not pleasant to think that a comrade has not done his duty."_

_"Dantes has done his,"_ replies the other. _"And that is not saying much. It was Captain Leclere who gave orders for this delay."_

_"Talking of Captain Leclere, has not Dantes given you a letter from him?"_

_"To me? No, was there one?"_

Offstage, Harry appears next to Hagrid. He seems distressed and ruffles with a hand through his hair as he glances at the stage for a moment. "I had hoped my Dantes would've come, but he seems unable to-"

"Your Dantes?" Hagrid doesn't understand what our raven haired hero means. "What? The one who came with your letter?"

Harry looks startled up at the burly man. "What?" he asks incredulously.

They have not noticed but the scene onstage has changed, yet the person onstage cannot perform yet.

"Master Potter?" he calls out and Harry turns to face him.

Seamus Finnegan is standing lonesome on stage. "Master Potter, have you found a Fernand yet?"

Harry rubs tiredly his temple. "Not yet," he admits. "We'll skip this scene till-"

"I can do his lines for now," a voice speaks up and Harry's eyes lit up as he notices Damien Sinclair standing next to the stage. The young man is now not wearing the hideous hat, and we can see that he has brown, curly hair.

"You came!"

Damien smiles and repeats his words. "I can do Fernand until you find someone right for the part."

"But what about Edmond Dantes?"

The youth grins slightly as he admits that he already memorized all the lines of every player and that he can manage doing' both of them during the practices.

"That is not possible!" Seamus exclaims as he stares unbelieving at Damien and Harry grins broadly, now really sure that Damien is the right person for his play.

"It is not that hard, after all, we do not have all the pages yet," Damien explains to Seamus and then turns to face Harry again. "Is this alright with you?"

Harry nods. "Be my guest," he tells Damien as he watches the young man jump on stage and finally the scene starts.

_"You see, Mercedes,"_ Damien starts as he motions to their surroundings. _"Here is Easter come round again; tell me, is this the moment for a wedding?" _

_"I have answered you a hundred times, Fernand, and really you must be very stupid to ask me again."_

_"Well, repeat it, repeat it! I beg of you, that I may at last believe it! Tell me for the hundredth time that you refuse my love, which had your mother's sanction. Make me understand once for all that you are trifling with my happiness, that my life or death are nothing to you. Ah, to have dreamed for ten years of being your husband, Mercedes, and to lose that hope, which was the only stay of my existence?"_

_"I love Edmond Dantes,"_ Seamus replies passionately, slightly turned away from Damien and staring out at the gallery. _"And none but Edmond shall ever be my husband."_

_"And you will always love him?"_

_"As long as I live."_

Damien let fall his head like a defeated man, but then suddenly looks up with clinched teeth. _"But if he is dead?"_

Seamus still stares out at the gallery and let his arms fall at his side. _"If he is dead, I shall die too."_

_"If he has forgotten you-"_

"Stop!" Harry interrupts them "No, no, no… Don't let a good moment go to waste!"

The rehearsal stops and Harry jumps on the stage. He grabs Seamus' arms and turns him to face Damien. "Face him! This man is madly in love with you, and he is trying to convince you to choose him instead of Edmond. Face him when you tell him he has no chance. And don't spend it all at once. She is talking about someone who is elsewhere at the moment. What will be left when she stands face to face with him?

Hagrid offstage frowns at the pages in his hand and wonders: "… still no dog?"

Harry turns angry around and stares down at the bearded man. "By Merlin's wand! Am I to suffer this constant stream of interruption!" asks he to no one in particular and then turns back to Seamus. "What will you do in Act Two at their Marriage-Feast where they are so happy that they're conscious only of the sunshine and the presence of each other?"

Seamus looks frowning through his few sheets of paper. "I am very sorry... sir. I have not seen Act Two yet."

"Of course you have not! I have not written it!" Harry says annoyed and doesn't notice the small scowl that Damien sends his way. Clearly the young man doesn't like the way Harry is talking, not realizing it's the writer's soul, which is speaking at the moment. The soul that yearns for perfection, has it all clearly drawn out in the mind and wants to achieve that utopian picture.

* * *

Alone in the auditorium, Riddle looks and listens fascinated. So this is theatre!

* * *

"Go to the next scene!" orders Harry as he jumps of the stage.

Sirius Black comes out of the wings, frowning over his manuscript. "Harry… where is Villefort? I'm not even in Scene One!"

Harry taps his forehead. "Your grand entrance is locked safe in here," he assures the man. "You will arrive in Act Two, at the Marriage-Feast."

His eyes fall on Damien and something in the actor's movements makes him think of a certain prince. "I leave the scene in your safe keeping, Sirius, I have a letter to write," says he and moves back into the wings where Hagrid is looking anxious.

"A letter? You mean a play!" says Hagrid as he lungs for Harry's arm.

Harry moves on, ignoring him. As he goes, we see that Damien stares after him, clearly wanting to follow the handsome man, but not able to as Sirius Black orders him to continue the play.

* * *

Some time later, Draco still dressed as Damien, runs up the stairs to his room with a letter in his hand. He locks himself up in his room and is about to open the letter as he hears a servant at the other door.

"Prince Malfoy, sir? There's a visitor for your highness."

Draco groans as he looks down at his clothes. There's no way that he'll be meeting someone in these clothes.

"Tell them that I am preoccupied," he orders through the door. It is silent for a short while but then the servant speaks up again. "It's Thane Parkinson, prince. And he absolutely refuses to leave without speaking with you."

Draco glances at the letter in his hand and then stalks to his closet. He puts the letter somewhere among his clothes and takes out what he's going to wear.

"Tell him that I will be there shortly," he tells the door and hears footsteps walk away.

He stares at the clothes and then glances into the mirror. It is going to be a though job; getting out of his clothes and into the other ones without use of a dresser.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	9. Scene Nine

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Nine

* * *

**

Thane Parkinson is kept waiting by a servant who is bearing the brunt of his impatience.

"How long am I kept waiting! He may be a prince but by no means knows the proper way to treat someone of my social standing!"

"I'm sorry sir," the servant says apologising. "But the prince has a lot to do; maybe it would be better that you return tomorrow, my lord."

"Silence! Do you know who you're talking to, you snivelling Muggle!" Parkinson grabs the servant by his throat and lifts him up. "It would be better that you tell him to show some civility to King Dumbledore's most loved nobility!"

The door opens and Prince Draco slowly walks in. "I've been informed that you wish do discus an important matter, Thane Parkinson?" he says, directly cutting to the case, and walks to a chair. He motions to the servant to get them a drink and offers Parkinson a chair.

"My prince," Parkinson says with a small bow and seats himself in front of the calm prince.

They wait for the servant to come back with their drinks and Parkinson starts to speak.

"My daughter has shown interested in you."

Draco rises wondering a brow and Parkinson scowls darkly. "Lady Pansy Parkinson," he says explaining and becomes infuriated as he sees how the prince shrugs nonchalantly and carelessly.

"You've met her at the bal," he clarifies.

"I might, may I inform you that I've met various ladies at the ball."

'_How could he not remember the fine likes that is my daughter?'_ thinks Parkinson furious.

"She would like to meet you again," he still manages to say.

"I'm afraid I might not have time to-"

"You have come here to find a bride, am I correct?" Parkinson interrupts him and Draco has to fight the urge to give the man a dead stare.

"You are correct," he says coolly.

"Then you have time," Parkinson decides for him. "You are to pick her up for a ride to the park tomorrow at noon, good afternoon." And with those words the Thane is away, leaving an incredulous Draco behind.

"What the-" the Slytherin Prince stares caught off guard in front of himself before collecting his wits again. He jumps up and hurls the glass, which had contained his drink, against a wall. It splinters with a satisfying sound and Draco stalks angry away, leaving it up to the servants to clean it up.

"Serverus!" he yells loudly as he storms through the hallways. He finds his councillor in the library, talking with a man his age. Draco stares the man away and then turns towards his councillor. "I can't believe it!" he blonde says and starts to pace back and forth in front of the man, who already guesses what's going on and sits down to 'enjoy' the tantrum.

"How dare** he**! How dare **he**!" The prince hisses. "To… burden me with something like this!"

"Like what?"

He glares at Snape who raises a brow at him. "He told**-NO**-ordered me! **ME**, the Prince of Slytherin, to take his witch of a daughter out to the park! How dare he! How dare that snivelling little-"

"Who are you talking about, Draco?"

"Parkinson!" Draco spats. "That fat, oversized, blubbering heap of meat!"

"You do know that **Thane** Parkinson," he emphasizes the 'thane' title. "Has to rule in absence of the king, which-"

"The king is not absent at the moment!"

"-makes him second to king Dumbledore. And offending him in anyway would be able to cause a war between Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Draco is silent for a while and then rubs with a hand over his closed eyes. "Why do you have to be so logical at a moment like this? Couldn't you just have left me ranting for a while longer?"

Snape smiles at him and stands up. He puts a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I could, but we both remember last time I let you…"

Both shiver at the memory and then grin at each other. "Thank Merlin, I at least have the play to lighten my days." _Thinking about the play… THE LETTER!_

Draco bid his farewells to his councillor and made his way to his chambers again where Harry Potter's letter was awaiting his return.

* * *

Draco is writing back to Harry. The Wordwright's letter is on the table and we can read part of it:

_'... it be too preposterous to ask you for a meeting? I assure you that I have no bad intentions on mind. I'd rather enjoyed our conversation and hope it was mutual. _

_I am merely a poor Wordwright yet I don't think you seem to mind…'_

Draco grins to the letter. "You're right, my poet, I don't mind at all," he whispers softly, his breath making the candle flame dance.

Now we see what our prince is writing:

**_'I've been here in Gryffindor for already one month, yet haven't had the fortune to find someone to my liking. And then I met you. I can assure you that I enjoyed our conversation and am willing to meet you again. I shall be in the park tomorrow at noon and hope you would do me the pleasure of lightening my day with your presence…' _**

The prince grins.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	10. Scene Ten

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Ten

* * *

**

We can see Draco Malfoy helping Lady Parkinson out of the carriage. He offers her quite gentlemanly his arm, to which she clings onto immediately. Prince Malfoy waves the carriage away and then leads Lady Parkinson to the park. There, they walk over the neatly paved path, going through an even more neatly arranged park.

Draco hates it.

Back home at Slytherin Palace, all the gardens are just the same. Secretly, Draco preferred to stay at the Malfoy Mansion. There, to the eye, the gardens were all neat, nice and tamed like here… but behind those were **the real** gardens.

They were wild, vicious and highly dangerous. No gardener was allowed to the place; the last who tried to enter had been eaten by a rare giant flesh eating plant, though how that particularly plant had gotten there, only Merlin knows.

Thus, all kinds of plants grew there, with the small ones being smothered by the others, some even eating the animals. Insects eating birds was also not a rare thing to see there.

Draco absolutely adored walking through this place where Survival of the Fittest was taken to the extreme. The only problem was that when he did so, he would arrive back at the palace all full of bruises, cuts, scrapes and dirt. And this was mostly followed by a stern preach from his father who was very 'disappointed' in him for forgetting his princely commitments.

Draco shakes his head slightly to get rid of these thoughts and glances at the girl besides him, clearly wondering how to get rid of her

She notices him watching her and smiles flirtingly, hanging even more on his arm and not even noticing the scowls on his face as his arm muscles protest against the added weight.

"Oh Draco…" she coos breathlessly, but said person tries to ignore her as well as he can and glances around to see if the raven haired playwright is there

A sly grin appears on his face as he find who he has been looking for, realizing Harry must be eager to meet him again, since that the man was early.

He steers them into Harry's direction, nearly pulling Parkinson with him.

"Good afternoon," he says to the man, who turns around with a welcoming smile.

"My prince," Harry makes a slight bow. "What a delight to meet you in such a place," he says as he glances shortly at Parkinson, he subconsciously reaches for his neck as he sees the girl.

Lady Parkinson glowers darkly at him and pulls on Draco's arm. "Prince Draccco! I want to walk further!" she complains on a whiny tone. Draco's gaze never leaves Harry as he dispatches her from his arm and pushes her a bit away. "Go ahead, I'll be here."

Lady Parkinson's mouth falls wide open in shock at the way he (mis)treats her, then she scowls darkly as she stares at the two young men in front of her and with the swish of her dress, she whirls around and stalks angry away.

Harry stares incredulously after her. "Do I even want to know?" he asks.

"Thane Parkinson, her father… persuaded me on taking her here," explains the prince shortly, not wanting to waste more breathe on that vile creature.

"Ah…"

They start to walk side by side through the park, both wondering what to talk about when Draco gets an idea. "How is your new play fairing?" he asks nonchalantly.

"It goes very well."

"So you found inspiration?"

"Oh yes," Harry answers with a soft smile. "In the most unlikely place too."

"How so?" Draco asks curiously, but the playwright is silent and the prince lets it go for the time being.

This time it's Harry to break the short uncomfortable silence between them. "How do you like it in Gryffindor so far, my prince?"

"It's… different. At first I marvelled at how little the royalty here do. But I found myself something interesting to do to kill time with."

"What do you prefer to do in Slytherin then?"

"We like to play Quidditch."

"Quidditch?" Harry repeats unfamiliar name softly then raises his eyes to give Draco a questioning look. "What is it?"

"A game played on broomsticks."

"Broomsticks?" Harry exclaims surprised and Draco gives him a cocky smirk.

"Why yes; broomsticks. Our wizards came up with it."

Harry opens his mouth again to comment but Draco cuts him quickly off. "And yes, we in Slytherin don't look down on people with magical skills… do you?" he rises questioning an elegant brow.

Harry shakes his head. "No, nor do I envy them. Words are my magic."

It clearly pleases the prince to hear that. "Good answer."

They walk past a couple that bows briefly for the prince and cast curious glances at Harry. Draco ignores them while Harry gives them a courtly nod before turning to his charming companion again. "So, how do you play it?"

This makes a small smile creep onto the prince's face. "It's just great: there are two teams of seven, which try to score by throwing a ball through one of the opposing teams three goals. Each shot gives ten points. The hard part is that two metal balls fly around, trying to knock players off their brooms."

Harry pulls Draco to a park bench and pushes him onto it. He quickly sits down, laughing softly at how the prince didn't even stop his explanation. Apparently he really liked this game.

"The goals are three posts with rings elevated high above the ground. While this is going on, one player from each team searches for the golden snidget. When it is caught, it is worth 150 points and the game is over!"

"The snidget? But isn't that an endangered bird?"

Draco nods slightly. "Well yes, but we are looking for an alternative."

"I see…"

They are silent again; looking everywhere but each other and finally Draco gets bored of it and leans backwards, throwing his arms on the back of the bench, and sitting quite un-princely.

"How are the players?" he suddenly comments.

Harry turns to stare confused at the blonde. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your play," Draco verifies. "Do you have any good actors?"

"Oh yes indeed. Ever heard of Sirius Black and the Marauders Men? They're quite famous here, not to mention that Black is my godfather," the emerald eyed man answers smiling.

Draco's brows shoot up in surprise, making Harry chuckle softly.

"He is?" the blonde asks aghast.

Harry smiles brilliantly. "Yes and I've known all the others before they became famous too."

"Oh…"

"I got this new player too. I got the feeling that he's never been in a play before, but he is doing quite fine. Better even then some of the Marauders.

"Is he really?" Draco asks, his interest clearly showing in his voice and Harry blinks as he remembers.

"I forgot: you know him. But don't go telling this to Damien, my prince. His head might swell into him thinking he runs the whole play. I've seen it happen enough times."

A smile tugs at Draco's lips. "Oh, don't worry… he wont be hearing it from me."

Harry grins at him and then turns to stare into the distance in front of them. He bites softly his lip as he tries to come up with something else to talk about, but it seems that his muse has made him speechless for the moment. How would his companion react if he found out that he was the playwright's inspiration?

"Is there something wrong?"

Harry blinks as he comes back down to earth and says the first thing that comes to mind. "I was just wondering why your hair is…" he trails off, trying to find the right word.

"-so long?"

Not the word he was looking for but close enough.

"Um, yeah…"

"People in Slytherin wear it like this, I mean: the nobles. It shows that were 'above the riffraff', so my father wanted me to have it this way."

"Do you get along with your father?"

"Somewhat, don't you?"

"No…" Harry glances down at his clasped hands. "My parents are dead."

"I'm sorry to hear so."

"It happened when I still was a babe. They were killed in a carriage accident when their friend, Peter Pettigrew, sabotaged the carriage. Sirius fought with him the day after and he fled the country. I went to live with Remus and Sirius…"

"What about their wives?"

"They don't have any."

"Are they… together then?"

"No, I don't think so. Remus already has too many problems to be in a relationship."

"I don't get it? What kind of problems prevents him from having some romance?"

"Remus is physically very ill; he gets sick quickly and isn't supposed to be alive as speak. The doctors didn't give him more than a month to live as he was born, yet he still lives. But we all know he might die any day…"

"And you still let him play?"

"Yes, he knows he might die, but he'd rather die on stage, doing what he enjoys so deeply then any other way," Harry defends his friend's way of living.

"That's so Gryffindor-ish!"

"I didn't know you were one to stereotype. Not all Gryffindor's are brave, not all Hufflepuff's are loyal to death. It's just something that kids are reminded of when they grow up, they grow up to believe that they have to be chivalrous, to be loyal or smart."

Harry grins slyly. "I was born near the border; I was almost a Slytherin, but what if that had happened? Naturally my parents would still have me grow up with Gryffindor values, but majority would think I would have to be taught in Slytherin ways. After all: destiny would have made me be born there so there laid my destiny."

He shrugged. "We all have these values, it's just that we are taught to show one particular value more than others."

"I never thought of it that way," the prince softly comments.

Harry shrugs again. "It's just the way I see it."

They are silent again, this time it's a peaceful silence as both ponder about different subjects. The prince is thinking over our playwrights' words while the playwright… is thinking about him.

Harry tries to watch the prince as indistinctively as he can, pondering over the fact why the man seems to like his company. Little does he know that our prince is just as interested in him as he is and has been ever since they first met. An obvious case of 'love at first sight'.

Draco feels the unwavering gaze of his companion and looks aside, catching the man's gaze. "Do you see something you fancy, Potter?" he asks playfully and is caught completely off guard when the playwright answers truthfully. "Yes, I do."

"So do I…" he admits, now more serious, and he is this time the one to surprise the other.

For a long moment they simply stare into each other's eyes. Silver and emerald clash and then it is gone as they hear a high pitched voice. "Prince Draco?"

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	11. Scene Eleven

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Eleven**

**

* * *

**

"Prince Draco?" the voice repeats and the two instinctively stand up to face the speaker.

It is milady McGonagall, who stands there with a slight frown on her face and what seem to be two burly bodyguards flanking her side.

Harry takes involuntary a step back at the intimidating sight, not to mention that the disapproving glare on the woman's face is directed straight at him.

Draco meanwhile adapts into his normal behaviour around nobles again. _So much for opening up…_

"Mrs. McGonagall," he greets politely and bows slightly. "Looking lovely as ever."

The lady makes a slight knick for him. "Is this man bothering you, prince?" she asks as she stares penetrating at Harry. He had never before met a woman that made him feel so insignificant. "I believe this man was at the ball too. Are you stalking the prince, sir?" she demands to know from Harry.

Harry meeps softly as her attention suddenly is focused on him. A sound that, was it another situation, surely would have amused Draco to hear. And the dark haired man puts his hands up in a defensive way. "No-no milady, I just-"

"I requested his presence here," Draco interrupts him.

McGonagall raises a brow. "May I inquire why?"

"Mister Potter here is a playwright; I am trying to convince him to continue his wonderful work in Slytherin."

This seems to sound odd to McGonagall's ears and the lady gives Draco a confused look. "Why didn't you send a servant for such an assignment, prince?"

Draco shrugs nonchalantly, getting annoyed by the woman's insistent intervening. "Because I wanted to, milady McGonagall," he says. His voice changing slightly in authority and the lady changes her posture immediately.

"Pardon me for questioning you, Prince Draco. It was just that lady Parkinson here showed the fear that this man had ill intentions toward you."

It is only then that they take sight of the glowering lady who till now has been standing hidden behind one of the guards.

"I can assure you; that is not the case here," Draco says, shooting a short but piercing glare at the glowering lady.

"Still, why this man? There are plenty of good playwrights in Slytherin, I've heard," Milady McGonagall continues to inquire.

Draco grins slightly at her. "It's because a play of Harry Potter reaches the heart." He gives Harry a look that makes the emerald eyed man blush and the prince smirks over this small victory. "His plays are full of emotion."

"Real emotion? In a play? They cannot make it true," the woman claims.

Harry has been watching them; quite awkwardly as suddenly someone snatches him by his sleeve. He listens to what the young boy whispers to him and nods. He then turns to Draco.

"Prince Draco, my presence is requested at the theatre. I must take my leave." He bows slightly to Draco and then to McGonagall. "Milady,' he says pleasantly, and then takes his leave without bothering to say goodbye to Lady Parkinson, who has been unnaturally silent all this time.

Draco watches him go, longing to follow the playwright, but knowing it would be imprudent towards Lady McGonagall.

"Oh, but they can, milady," he continues their conversation with a smile. "Harry Potter is able to show real emotions in his plays. Love, hate, fear... they are all here."

"Surely you're exaggerating."

"No! I would bet on it!"

"Bet accepted…" an amused voice tells them and they quickly turn to the speaker, only to fall in a low bow at his sight.

It is the King.

King Dumbledore smiles pleasantly down at them. "What a precious day it is, don't you think?" he says and they rise back to their feet.

"But your highness, how did you get here?" McGonagall asks shocked.

"Just taking a small stroll through the park, Milady McGonagall. Don't the buttercups look lovely today?"

"Um, yes they do…"

"But highness, do you think it's wise to be walking like a peasant through the park. The guards-"

"What kind of king would I be, if I cannot stroll through my own kingdom?" Dumbledore interrupts her with a smile. "And this park is one of my favourite places. I come here regularly, milady McGonagall."

McGonagall glanced down at the ground. "Please forgive me for my audacious words."

Dumbledore waves with a motion of his hand her apology away. "It touches me, milady," he says kindly and then turns to Draco.

"Now, about our bet..."

"Our bet?" Draco asks hesitantly, not trusting the utterly kind look on the King's face and the impish twinkle in the man's eyes.

"I do believe I accepted a certain bet about a play?" King Dumbledore says.

"Oh yes…"

Dumbledore stroke thoughtfully with a hand through his long beard, making a show of pretending to be thinking, and Draco thought briefly that perhaps the king himself would be a great actor. "Now, what are we betting for, young prince?"

Draco crosses his arms as he looks up at the ancient king. "Since I was the one who made the bet, I leave it to you to decide on prizes," he says bravely.

"Alright; if what you say is true… and this play of Harry Potter holds true emotion… I will give you your heart's desire."

That was not what Draco had expected. "How will you be able to do that?"

"I have my ways," Dumbledore answers enigmatic.

"You do realise that, with me being a prince, there's not much left for me to desire…"

Dumbledore smiles vaguely as if he knows something which his companions don't. "I'm sure there will be something. However, if you are wrong; you will give me your first born child."

This startles all of them greatly.

"My… my…" Draco is at loss of words and Dumbledore explains.

"I am old and have to other relatives. When I die there will be no one to take over the throne. But if your child becomes my heir, not only will Gryffindor have a king… but it will also accomplish an unbreakable alliance with Slytherin."

Draco racked with a hand through his hair. "I... I don't know… My first born?"

Miss Parkinson now finally spoke up from purposefully having kept herself in the background. "Our firstborn child? No!"

"Excuse me!" Draco looks affronted at her. "Our? There is no 'our'! There will be no 'our'! I'd let you know, Miss Parkinson," Draco spats with all the disgust he can find in his voice. "I despise you! You are the last woman in this kingdom-No; in the world that I would even consider marrying! So far you've been an annoyance to me and don't even think about bawling to your daddy so he will try to force me into it. If it comes to that, he would have to duel me. So you'll either be without a father of husband. Is that clear?"

Lady Parkinson stares with big eyes up at him, never having expected this reaction from the blonde, and she does the first thing that comes to mind. Tears fill her eyes as she runs away with Draco's angry stare aimed at her retreating back.

"Prince Malfoy!" McGonagall exclaims; appalled at the way he behaves.

"My excuses to you, Milady, but she had it coming. She and her father, the thane act as if they are gods. As if they are above me and even above you, King Dumbledore!" he turns to regard the amused looking King. "How can you stand them?"

Dumbledore places a hand on the agitated prince's shoulder. "One tolerates who must be tolerated." He says cryptically. "You cannot change how you feel, though you could have told her less… harshly."

Draco took a deep calming breath and let it g again. "Still I'm sorry that I did so in front of you and milady McGonagall. My apologies."

"Apologies taken. So, about the bet?"

Draco grins wryly and holds out his hand to the old king. "I accept."

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	12. Scene Twelve

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Twelve

* * *

**

There is much going on at the Theater, as they are busy rehearsing a scene. Meanwhile up aloft, Harry has a Writer's Corner where he is settled down to work. He stares dreamily in front of him while drawing lazily circles in the air with his quill.

"I don't believe in love at first sight, but this must have been love at second sight! First at the ball I was just attracted to him. He was an enigma, but at the park… and he felt it too! I could see it in his eyes!"

"Harry? Who are you talking to?" Hagrid abruptly violates his sanctuary and Harry shakes himself out of his dreamlike state.

"Myself, I'm working on my play," he quickly answers.

"But you have written nothing!"

"That's because I'm still composing it," Harry explains a bit bothered.

"Didn't you say you only had to write it down?"

"… stop bothering me!"

He pushes Hagrid out of his corner and sits heavily back down in his chair. He strokes with the quill over his cheek as he stares down at his desk and then suddenly from his quill; words started to flow, inspired by a blonde Slytherin.

* * *

A few hours later, after having written nearly ten pages, Harry is once again interrupted by someone.

"We can't go on," Remus Lupin tells him plainly as his ember eyes rove over the newly written scene.

"Why not?" Harry asks with a frown, trying to change a part which isn't wholly to his liking.

"Damien is not present and you still haven't decided on a Fernand. Seamus has a lot of trouble with his lines and I can't do my scenes without Damien, since I'm only have them with him."

Harry shoves the pages aside and rubs his arching head. "Just do a scene with Sirius and someone else. Seamus can practice his lines with someone who has a minor part."

"You know it's going to be a problem if it stays like this," Remus says out loud what Harry was just thinking.

"I know," Harry racks tiredly with a hand through his hair. "I need to think," he say and stands up. "Just do it, will you? Help me out for now Remus? I'll come up with a solution soon!"

Remus smiles and nods. "Don't worry Harry. I have faith in you."

Harry nods back at his eldest friend and leaves the theater, trying to clear his mind from the frustration and stress.

They had been rehearsing his play for quite a long while now, and Harry still hadn't found himself a Fernand. Damien still played both parts and the playwright had to admit that the young man had quite a talent.

As if he had been acting for all of his live, but that was impossible, or Harry would've heard of him before.

With these troubling thoughts haunting his mind, Harry walks through the market, too fixated on his problems to take notice of the men who yell out their goods are divine.

That is; until he hears a very familiar voice yells out. "Leave her alone!"

He immediately snaps out of his daze and searches with his eyes for the person who had been yelling out. It doesn't take him too long.

In front of a fruit stand he sees Neville, standing protective in front of a blonde girl, while facing two burly men. They look rough and dangerous and are most likely drunk too.

It's quite astonishing that a man like Neville, who is known to be shy and clumsy, has the bravery to stand up to such men.

"What do you want?" one of the man growls gruffly at him and the other laughs jeering. "Aw look at that! The loony girl found herself a dashing knight!"

The two advance as they keep jaunting and Harry can see how Neville gulps frightened, but stands his ground.

And finally Harry could grab the thought that had been floating just out of his reach: Neville HAD to play Edmond Dantes!

He pushes away from the crowd and walks determinedly up to Neville. He places solemnly a hand on the startled man's shoulder and grins.

"Nev, you never cease to amaze me!" he says proudly to the confused man and then turns around to face the crowd around them.

"Ladies ands gentlemen, I'd like to introduce to you: Neville Longbottom, actor extraordinaire and also the Lead of my upcoming play: 'The Prisoner of Azkaban! Come and see him play Edmond Dantes, a man betrayed by-"

"Who in the Seven Hells are you?" his speech is interrupted by one of the men.

"Are you two trying to make a fool of us?" the other growls and cracks his knuckles. It is clear that both of them are up to a fight and Harry grins at Neville. "Guess we will have to fight now," he says as he turns to stand back to back with his friend. He smirks daring at his opponents.

"Bring it on!" he says and with that the fight started.

* * *

Some time later, Neville and Harry walk back to the theater. Harry has his arm around Neville's shoulders to keep himself upright as he has hurt his leg in the fight. He and Neville sport various bruises and cuts, though it looks worse than it actually is, and both men's knuckles are raw and bleeding.

Harry looks the most unfortunate with dried blood covering his chin from his burst lip and a nice blue eye that is so swollen that he can't open it. Neville has a large bruise on his jaw and holds his bleeding nose.

They are very near the theater as they see a small child skipping their way. As the girl notices them, she stops immediately, stares scared up at them and then runs screaming away.

Neville and Harry share an amused glance and then start to laugh only to let the laughs quickly turn into coughing fits.

"You think she was worth it?" Harry suddenly asks.

"Huh? Who?"

"The girl we just fought for?" Harry says with a pained look, as his split lip keeps him from grinning.

"…yeah, her name is Luna. She's… she is perfect." Neville sighs. "But unattainable for me; her father would never let her marry me."

"Marriage? You're already thinking of marriage? How long have you known her?"

Neville blushes. "Seven weeks…"

"Seven…! Woah, then she definitely has to be worth it," Harry says amazed and then with a more serious tone of voice. "You know that if you ever need something… you can always count on me. I don't have a lot but if you need anything-"

"It's… thanks Harry." Neville answers grateful. "That means a lot to me, but I don't think her… and me…" he trails off and then suddenly asks. "What was this stuff about the play anyway?"

Now Harry grins broadly; spilt lip be cursed. "I want you to play Dantes!"

"What about Damien?" Neville asks with a slight frown and Harry shrugs noncommittal.

"He'll play Fernand; he's perfect for it. The character suits him better than Edmond anyway."

Neville chuckles. "Now we finally can do the scenes with Edmond and Fernand!"

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	13. Scene Thirteen

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Thirteen

* * *

**

"What am I to do, Damien?" Harry sighs deeply and stares off into space as the young man looks through yet more pages of the play.

Harry had just informed Damien, in the privacy of his Writers Corner that he was supposed to play Fernand and Neville the lead part.

Interesting enough, the actor didn't seem to have a problem with it, and inquired about his change of mind. Apparently his fellow actors had the rumor going on that Neville had beat Harry up to get the part of Edmond Dantes.

When told about it, Harry had looked oddly at him and then with a laugh in his voice told that Neville had rightfully earned the part.

Harry sighs at the remembrance. "Will you tell me about Draco Malfoy?" he suddenly asks.

"Why?" Damien inquires, confused about the sudden change and slightly fearing that the man before him had found out his secret.

Harry shrugs nonchalant. "Just because… since you're the nephew of his councilor, I'd figured you'd well… know things about him."

Damien raises suspiciously a brow. "You're not suggesting I give you… blackmail material about the Prince of Slytherin?"

Harry shakes his head, frantically. "No! But of course not! I was just wondering, you see I've met him and I um,-" the wordwright seems unable to find the right words, but then finally blurts them out. "Is Prince Draco engaged to someone? Or does he already have a wife?"

He blushes as he notices the perplexed look on Damien's face, who then starts to grin. "You fancy the prince!" he exclaims, almost sounding gleefull, Harry shrugs a bit uncommitical, not knowing what the other might think of it.

"That is wonderful!" the youth exclaims extatic and Harry is now the one to stare oddly at him.

"You don't think it's… odd? Disgusting? Unnatural?"

"But of course not! Love is love," he coughs a bit uncertain behind his hand. "Um, I mean, you love him, don't you? It's not just about-"

Harry interrupts him by grabbing his hand. "My dear Merlin, yes! I believe I'm totally besotthed! I feel like I'd die, just for having the chance to kiss him! To see him look at me with the same passion and feelings that I feel for him!"

"What part of him do you love the most?" Damien asks a bit breathless, as he stares spellbound at Harry's face.

"His eyes. Oh if only I could write the beauty of his eyes!"

"His eyes? How can you love someone because of their eyes? Eyes that could as well be mine."

"Ney, not yourse. His eyes… they challenge me, taunt me, tempt me to talk back at him and try to get back at him with a witty answer. In his eyes, I am the most important person in the world- "

Damien is speechless but Harry continues, caught up in his passionatre speech.

"- and his voice can bring me in trance. The way he says certain things brings shivers down my spine. The way he moves, like he is a hunter stalking his prey." He smirks amused at Damian. "And I am his prey."

Then before Harry can understand what is happening, he finds himself with a weight against his chest and soft lips against his mouth. It is over too soon as Damien pushes himself blushing away from Harry, turns around and storms away.

The playwright stares for a long moment off into space in a dull haze, but then shakes his head and chases after the boy.

Why had Damian done so? He's heard that his words could woo his enemies into a state of liking him, but was it able to make someone want to kiss him?

He runs over the stage, stumbles against one of the actors and jumps off the stage. As he heads for the main entrance of the Theater, he is stopped by a few actors with questions.

This all seemed quite familiar.

* * *

In another part of the town, an interesting new addition for our play can be found. Unfortunately, the circumstances in which we first meet him aren't too endearing.

He's…

… pissing into a corner of an ally.

Audience; meet Ronald Weasley. Are you wondering what he's doing here in our town? Well, so am I!

Ron Weasley tidies his clothes a bit and leaves the alleyway, cursing his sister for about the millionth time for sending him here. From the muttering, we find out that his younger sister, Ginevra Weasley-Potter, has send him to this god-forsaken place to find her husband.

Her husband, who has left her years ago and goes by the name of Harold James Potter.

Ron had heard people who were visiting his town talk about a woman in someone's play who went by the name 'Ginevra' and had fierce red hair. It didn't take much to recognize his sister in the description.

Apparently in the play, she was a witch of a woman, who cheated on her husband and stole all his money, making him flee into the arms of another woman.

His sister had heard of it too and was livid enough to kick Ron, who had been living with her, out to go and search for her husband.

He couldn't see why HE had to be the one to look for him. Ron had never even met the guy and all he had was the description of a man with black wild hair, green eyes and a scar shaped like a lightening bolt on his forehead.

Ron leans lazily against the wall of a house, and stares at the tiles of the main road, which lead to the Palace. He just glances up to the palace when he hears the tell tale sound of four galloping horses; meaning a nobleman's carriage has to be coming by.

He glances sparsely interested at the coming carriage, waiting for it to ride past him, but to his great surprise it stops just a short distance away from him.

The door of the carriage opens and a woman tries to descent, only to be stopped by her footman. Despite the footman's frantic protests, the woman still get out of the carriage.

"I just want to take a look in that bookstore," she argues and Ron takes a moment to stare at her dress which was, even though very simple of style, made of expensive fabric. The woman wears a fancy hat, which makes him unable to see her hair or face, but Ron thinks she has nice lips, even though they are currently pursed together in annoyance.

"It is not safe here, milady," the footman argues and glances at Ron who is looking interested at them. The footman scowls as if he smelles something disgusting. "You could be kidnapped by Riffraff like him!"

Ron frowns at the insult and pushes way from the wall to walk angry at the two. "Riffraff! Who are you calling riffraff you-"

The lady quickly steps in between them and hold up her hands. "Please calm down!" she says and Ron notices she has brown eyes.

"What do you care, Miss Prissy Fit! If you were smart you would get back in that carriage and leave these streets full of Riffraff!" Ron shouts in her face, directing his anger at the person closest to him. "Because we-"

A loud slap echoes through the street and Ron's head snaps to the side.

The Lady clenches her fists together in rage. "You!" She yells angry. "You! You are such a-"

"What riffraff? Muggle? Hobo?"

"I detest people like you! You know nothing about me and you just assume that I think in such ways!" the woman screams and turns to her footman. "Pierre, lets leave, I'm sure they are waiting impatiently for us at the Palace."

She doesn't even give Ron a last glance as she gets into carriage and leaves the irritated redhead behind.

In the carriage, the lady stares down at her hand. The anger just has disappeared as soon as it had come.

It is strange; she can still feel the rough skin of that obnoxious man, the tingling of her hand meeting his cheek. She absentmindedly noted that he needed to shave… his jaw had been full with prickly stubbles.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	14. Scene Fourteen

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Fourteen

* * *

**

Harry curses as he tries to avoid running into people, while chasing after the confusing actor. He can't understand how it could have happened; he hadn't noticed that Damien had feelings for him!

He suddenly skips to a stop and stares distressed at the street. There are people standing at both sides of the road as some sort of parade is going on. Apparently a

Holy man has recently died and now they are bringing him to his last resting place.

And let that road be the fastest way to get to the palace.

Harry curses again, followed by a quick apologizing smile to the people near by him, who glare disapproving. He turns around and starts to trudge discouraged back to the theatre. He would have to talk to Damien another time and then clear things up between them.

The theatre is only a few meters away from Harry when he hears someone call out to him. A quick look over his shoulder shows that Sirius is striding towards him with a redheaded man by his side. Harry doesn't know the man, but he does look quite familiar.

"Harry! Good to see you here!" Sirius bellows and slaps him hard on the back.

Harry nods shortly, his mind still occupied with thoughts of how to fix things with Damien.

"I'd like you to meet Ron," Sirius says and Harry mutters a short welcome. Sirius raises a brow at his godson's uncommon behaviour but shrugs it off.

"Ron, this vague man here is Harry; my godson."

Realising he was being rude, Harry quickly apologises. "Oh my excuses, there just happened something…" he trails off and shakes his head as he stares in the direction in which Damien had taken off. He touches his lips slightly and sighs, slumping his shoulders in the process. "I seriously need a drink."

Sirius slaps him again hard on the shoulder. "Then Sirius will take care of a drink! We're heading for a bar!"

Harry smiles a bit at the way his godfather is behaving and glances to the redhead who grins tootily and winks. Harry immidiately desides he likes him, though he does kind of remind him of someone he'd rather forget.

They soon find themselves in the tavern The Hog's Head where they start a drinking game ending with three very drunken men telling eachother their dirty little secrets.

Thankfully for Harry, he hasn't let anything slip about his feelings for the Prince of Slytherin, nor the unexpected kiss Damien had given him that morning.

"A toast! Not the sort you can eat! The drinky kind… yeah… um," Harry laughs as his godfather tries to find something to toast on. The older man is distracted by his laugh and stares for a moment at Harry.

He grins broadly and raises his mug and knock's it into Ron's who has followed his example. "A Toast! On Harry James Potter! May His New Play Be Remembered As His Finest Work!"

Harry chuckles and knocks his cup agaisnt the two others and they gulp down whatever was left in it.

Ron wipes with a sleeve over his mouth, but then halts in his movement as his brain finally catches up with what just had been said.

"Harry Potter?" he says with a questioning tone of voice.

"Hmm?"

"That's funny! My sister's last name is Potter too."

Sirius frowns. "Doesn't that mean your last name is Potter too?"

"Nah, she's married. To a guy named… um… named…. Har-har-Harrold! Harrold James Potter!"

Sirius looks startled to Harry. "Hey, that's Harry's name too!"

"No kidding? I think I came to look for you then!"

Harry blinks and raises a brow, not realising that thanks to the alcohol, his muscles don't work the way they should and both brows now quirk up in a funny way.

"Why were you looking for me?"

"My sis's send me to get you back," Ron shrugs easygoing. "I think I won't do it. You're too nice a guy to be send back to such a dragon!"

Sirius looks quasi-shocked to him. "That's **your** sister you're talking about!"

"I know," Ron nodds frantically. "And if you'd talked like that about her, I would have to kick your arse!"

They burst out in laughter and drink more, Harry's mind clear of troubling thoughts for a change.

* * *

In the palace, Draco Malfoy throws himself heavily onto his bed and burries his head into the fluffy pillows. A maniacal grin has appeared on his face and he can't get rid of it!

He has kissed Harry Potter! Can you believe that?

The prince was not sure if he really had done it or was delusional and dreamed it, but the burning sensation he could still feel on his lips told him that he really had done it.

Wait no, he hadn't done it. _Damien_ had kissed Harry, not Draco, _Damien_!

What would Harry think of that? Harry just had told him that he liked Draco, not Damien and he didn't know that Damien was in fact Draco, right? But perhaps, he had now blown his cover. Surely the playwright was no fool and maybe this kiss had made him aware that-

His door slams open and Draco doesn't need to get up to know it is his advisor Snape. No one besides that man would dare to storm in like that.

"Where have you been?" the man growls and Draco raises his head to glance over a shoulder to the man. Snape stares disgusted at his peasants outfit.

"I see…" he sneers and gives the prince a dark look that shows how much he loaths Draco's choise of cloth. Draco just smiles sweetly back at him, knowing the man was still angry about him being in a play and not doing his princely duties.

"Take off that hideous garb andd get dressed properly!"

"What for?" Draco asks boredly as he turns to lie on his back on the bed.

"Don't tell me you have forgotten that there is a ball…"

Draco sits abrubtly up and stares shocked at his councillor. "There's another ball?"

"You should have known," Snape chastises him. "But instead you mingle with commoners!"

Draco quickly gets up and usheres Snape out of his room with the order to fetch him a man servant for his clothes.

Sometimes it was diffucult to lead a double-life like him.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	15. Scene Fifteen

**Harry Potter in Love  
Scene Fifteen

* * *

**

Once again the great hall of the Palace is crowded with nobles mingling with each other. There is laughter, drinks, music, a lot of flirting and one very disgruntled prince.

He had been forced to dance with Lady Parkinson, the moment he stepped into the room. And the Lady was certainly not a feather on her feet.

Now he has rid himself of her presence and wanders, with a glass of red Bourgogne wine, around the room. It's quite a hassle, but appearances must be done and Draco is polite and princely and charming even though he wishes he could be miles away from there.

Not to mention that many a lord try to sell their daughters to him.

The Prince of Slytherin puts his empty glass on the tray of a passing servant, fetches a new glass from another and listens in on a conversation.

"I can't believe the audience of that woman," he hears a Lady complain. "She dared to question my intelligence!"

"How?"

"She asked me if I ever had heard of Plato."

"The son of sir Thaddeus?"

"Yes him. And when I told her I did, she had the nerve to laugh and said that if every one here is like me, she would be bored to death and then she just turned her back to me."

"How rude!'

Draco keeps the glass in front of his mouth to hide the amused grin. He wouldn't mind meeting this supposedly intelligent woman who knows about ancient Greek philosophers. She may prove to be better company than all the airheads around him.

He discreetly informs about her and is pointed to a woman with curly brown hair, standing lonesome at the edge of the dance floor. She watches the dancers as if dissecting them with her sharp eyes.

Draco walks swiftly to her and makes a short bow. "Good evening, milady,' he says politely, but Hermione Granger, heir to some small title, eyes him as if he is a blast-ended screwd.

"I do not care for your company," she tells him calmly and Draco raises a brow. So she doesn't know his identity? And she is rather rude too. How… interesting.

"Nor do I care for yourse. I could be doing better things with my time." _Like being with Harry._

Now she was the one to raise a brow. "Like what?"

"Anything is better than this… reading a good book perhaps."

Her mouth falls wide open and Draco notices that she has slightly buck-teeth. "You like books?" she asks asthonished, as if she thought him to be too dumb for that.

"I, unlike a lot of ignorant people you can find at these balls, like the knowledge they provide."

"I haven't met another person, who reads for their pleasure."

"Really? What books do you prefer? Have any favourites?"

"Hmm… I would have to admit to liking _Bad Faith Island_," she replies a bit screwdly.

He blinks at that unexpected answer. "Really? Isn't it about two pirates who fall in love?"

"You… know it? she asks, again surprised.

"Yes I do. I always felt connected to the thief, not to mention that it has a fantastic plotline."

"I think so too! Though my favourite was the escaped convict; his personality was just fabulous."

They continue to discuss the book, Hermione clearly interested in his opinion, and before the night is over the two have formed a small friendship and promise to meet again.

"But I am not looking for something beyond friendship," Hermione warns him before Draco leads her to her carriage.

Draco grins charmingly at her. "Nor do I expect something more from you, milady," he anwers diplomatic. "Oh, how inconvenient. We have been talking all night, yet I forgot to introduce myself."

Hermione blinks and then laughs. "Oh dear, you were such a great conversationalist, I completely forgot. So tell me, good sir, what may be your name?"

She recieves a briljant smile and Draco bows slighly. "Draco Leonis Malfoy, heir to the throne of Slytherin," he tells her as he closes the door of the carriage and signals the coacher to go.

Hermione stares speechlessly at him through the window, as the carriage rides away, leaving Draco behind with an amused grin on his face.

**To Be Continued**


	16. Scene Sixteen

**Harry Potter in Love  
****Scene Sixteen  
**

* * *

It is the next day and Harry James Potter is standing in front of the palace backdoors. He walks up to a maid, who is talking with a stable boy, and sends her a polite smile.

"I have come here with a message for councilor Snape," he says, remembering how last time no one had seemed to know about the existence of one Damien Sinclair.

The maid looks uncomfortable at his sudden appearance and glances confused to the stable boy. "You'll need to be at the front entrance, sir. And announce yourself properly with Mr. Evans, the head butler."

Harry shrugs at the small jab at his manners and finds his way to the front entrance. There he is, under the watchful eye of a large amount of guards, reluctantly admitted entrance by a butler. And after a short verbal battle with the mentioned Head Butler, he is sent to wait in a small side room.

And a long wait it is. Harry first wanders around the room, very conscious of a servant standing near the shadows of the door and keeping close watch on him, before he finally settles down in a chair.

It feels like he has been left waiting for over an hour before Councilor Snape bestows him with his marvelous presence.

"To what do I owe this _pleasure_?" the man asks arsenic, clearly not pleased to see him.

Harry can understand why: after all, he was here to reject the man's nephew's feelings. A nephew who most likely came home crying yesterday and probably told everything that had happened to his uncle. He gulped.

"I wish to speak with your nephew, sir."

The man looks displeased with his request. "My nephew is currently not present. He has chores to do. Could I pass on a message?"

Harry doesn't believe the man. Perhaps Damien has told him that he didn't want to see Harry anymore? That would mean that he didn't have a Fernand for his play! But what can he do to convince the young man to continue acting in his play?

"Can you pass on the message that today's rehearsal starts an hour earlier?" he quickly improvises and the councilor looks, if possible, even more displeased.

"I will tell him." Councilor Snape answers curtly and users him out of his chair and towards a side door. "Goodbye Mr-"

He is interrupted from disposing of Harry by a refined and familiar voice.

"Severus? You here? I heard that-oh?"

It is none other than Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, who walks into the antechamber. He halts as soon as he notices Harry, who stares equally frozen back.

"My prince," Harry finally gasps breathlessly and quickly makes a small, respectful bow.

Draco stares for a moment astonished at the Wordwright and then glances to his annoyed councilor. Serverus merely crosses his arms and then raises a brow, showing he is not going to explain his behavior.

"Severus, I will take Mr. Potter out of your hands." He states as he looks back to Harry. "Will you please accompany me to my personal chambers?" he requests with a luring smile.

"Draco!" Snape snaps. "You surely cannot-"

Draco Malfoy sends him a dark and piercing glare, telling the man he'd better watch his words. "I will and I shall," he states, taking no critique from the man.

Harry is not sure what it is that they are_not_ saying at the moment, but he follows the prince after this short power stand-off. They are silent until they reach the prince's chambers and inside Draco directs Harry into a comfortable chair with green, velvet pillows.

"We need to talk," he says as he stands purposefully in the Wordwright's personal space.

"We do?"

"Yes, we do."

Draco tries to think of a way to approach the subject he wants to talk about, but can't. So he finally opts to not do it verbally.

He puts his hands on the armrests of the chair Harry is sitting in and leans forwards so they support his whole weight. He carefully places his lips on the Wordwright's startled ones, unbeknownst to Harry initiating their second kiss.

It is a short kiss and only done to get his message across. He leans a little bit back, but still so his face is merely inches away from Harry's and stares into green eyes, hoping he didn't just make a big mistake.

"Is-is this your way of 'talking'?" Harry asks breathlessly, his breath skims over Draco's cheek and the prince's eyes flutter closed at the intimate sensation. Harry then reaches out and touches Draco's cheek, letting his thumb glide ever so softly over the skin under one of the prince's silver eyes that immidiatly shoot open again.

"You're Damien aren't you?" He then says, finally understanding the situation.

Before Draco can deny or admit it, Harry leans forwards to start their third kiss. He wraps his arms around Draco's lithe body to pull him down on top of him. It is a bit awkward because of the chair, but they manage.

At that moment, nothing else matters anymore. All the two men know is that they need to touch, hold and possess each other. Feelings that have been torturing them ever since they first met finally have the chance to break free.

Not before long they are sprawled out on the bed, their bare limbs entangled with each other and skin to skin. They seem to fit together like the two opposite bookends. Pale skin against tanned. Black hair interlaced with blond. Green eyes locked with silver.

At the hight of their passion, Harry can't keep himself from sobbing out 'oh my prince!' when he reaches his climax. Draco feels his lover's body convulse irratically and is also pulled over the edge.

Their passionate tryst ends with Draco lying spend on his back and Harry with his head on Draco's chest and arms firmly wrapped around the prince's abdomen. Their legs are still entwined.

"Why'd you do it?" Harry finally asks.

"Seduce you?" Draco comments lightly as he let his hand rub slow circles over his new lover's back.

"Pretend to be Damien."

"I needed to get away from pretence of Palace. And then I found you. I already was a bit infatuated with you, even before I met you."

Harry raises his head to stare astonished into amused, silver eyes, not understanding how he never had noticed that Damien and Draco share the same wonderful eyes.

"Really?"

"It was your play; the _Four Founders of Hogwarts_, though played and changed by that idiot Lockheart. I had read the original before watching it. I was, and still am, absolutely smitten with your work." He grabs Harry's hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss. "And with you."

Harry smiles and then suddenly yawns. "Oh Merlin…" Harry sighs as he notices how exhausted he is.

"You can just call me Draco, you know," Draco says smugly and Harry stares for a moment perplexed at him before he bursts out in laughter.

"Draco, I think I might love you." He finally admits with a lovingly smile as he wipes the tears out of his eyes. To Draco those are the best words he's ever heard, well, next to Harry moaning his name in utter climax.

**To Be Continued

* * *

**

_**Note from Jekyll: **It has been 3 years since I last updated this story, even though it was already mostly finished. My apologies for that, but personal businuess got in the way. I hope people still enjoy reading this story! Leave a review and make me very happy, while I'll try to remember the general plot-line of this story!  
_


	17. Scene Seventeen

**Harry Potter in Love  
**_Not Beta-read_

**Scene Seventeen

* * *

**

Harry is waking up slowly. As he tries to get away from the sun, that is mercilesly is shining down on him, he notices he can't. For none other than prince Draco is lying in his arms. Their bodies are bare and entangled with each other.

A smile creeps onto the wordwright's face as he carefully wipes a lock of hair out of the blond's face. The prince reacts by trying to burry his face deeper into Harry's chest.

"Draco, wake up," Harry whispers into the blond's ear. "I have to go. The morrow has arrived and I'm inspired. I need to write on my play."

"Stay," slurs Draco and tightens his grip on Harry. "Stay and tell me instead."

Harry chuckles and complies to his wish. "Edmond Dantes wil have a son."

"With Mercedes?"

"No, with a guard of Azkaban." The writer replies with a deadpan face. "-of course with Mercedes!"

Draco pinces his side, but Harry only chuckles.

"Edmond and Mercedes meet on their secret spot where Fernand tries to seduce Mercedes. She only has eyes for Edmond and leaves with him and together they create their child. Dantes is however not aware of its existance... since he is shipped off to the prison Azkaban."

"How will Mercedes raise the child?"

"She marries Fernand. She simply has no other choice, lest her reputation is damaged."

This causes Draco to sit up. "But she detests him! And I can imagine why! My character is a rather childish man who is simply jealous of everything Edmond has."

"Not yet. She still simply sees him as a childhood-friend, but she truly loves Edmond."

Draco is silent for a moment as his eyes scan the other's face. "Will Edmond find out?" he finally asks and Harry smirks secretively.

"Eventually. At the very last moment, when it is almost too late."

Draco shares his smirk, loving the way the playwrights mind works, and lays his head down on his chest again. He is still not willing to let the other go; his body heat and smell is too intoxinating.

They lay there for a few more moments, with Harry mentally going through what idea's he has so far about the play, while Draco simply enjoys their proximity. The peacefull atmosphere is rather suddenly interupted though, by a slamming door close by.

Then they hear councillor Snape's voice, requesting the unknown person to give the prince a moment's time. A rather stern voice replies.

"Pray tell what is going on here?" the voice questions and Draco immidiately sits rigid right up. He is now quite awake and aware.

Then the door opens and Draco suddenly feels like a child that has been caught taking a cookie out of the forbidden cookie jar. He and Harry stare in shock at the imposing man standing in the doorway.

"Hello father," Draco greets him, when he finds his tongue again. He tries to sound pleasant and comfortable, but does not succeed in hiding his discomfort at the man's sudden appearance.

'_Oh bugger_,' is Harry's thought as he stares at the older version of his lover.

Draco's father, King Lucius of Slytherin, raises a questioning brow as he notices the men in the bed. Both look disheveled and in a state of undress.

"Who might this-" he is silent for only a second as his gaze flicks to Harry. "-person be?" he inquires.

Draco raises an brow too and replies with another question. "Why are you here, father?"

The king doesn't answer but turns to face Harry, who is glancing from one to another, and scowls. "Leave us," the King of Slytherin orders him. Harry is about to do so when Draco holds him back by his arm.

"You don't have to listen to his commands!"

Harry gives him a disarming smile. "It is okay," he tells. "I have to go to the playhouse anyway."

Just to make sure that Draco looses that worrying frown just above his eyes, he leans forwards and leaves a chaste kiss on the prince's lips. "I'll see you tonight." He whispers softly, so the King can't hear.

Then, without feeling shame for his nude body, he steps out of the bed. Draco get's a nice look at his bare ass when he bends over to grab his pants from the ground. He walks calmly past King Lucius of Slytherin and is even able to give the man a small respectfull nod before leaving the room.

Harry finds his shirt draped over the chair and he quickly dresses himself. He feels a bit unsure about leaving Draco alone with his father, but decides the prince probably knows best how to handle him.

* * *

The playwright flees to the playhouse so he can finally write on his script. He first reads the words of an older scene outloud and in his mind he hears Draco's drawling voice as he says Fernand's lines.

_"I love Edmond Dantes, and no one except Edmond will be my spouse."_

_"And you will love him forever?"_

_"So long as I live."_

_"But if he is dead?"_

_"If he is dead, then I will die."_

_"But if he forgets you?"_

Happy with his work, Harry's thoughts briefly fly towards Draco and his unexpected father. Then, before he knows it, he is writing a scene between Edmond and the man who will throw him into prison, Monsieur Villefort.

* * *

When Harry leaves the bedroom, Draco immidiately finds himself in a staring contest with his father. Getting quickly tired of it, Draco slips on his dressrobes and leads his father to another room where they can sit down.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

Lucius regards him with an emotionless face and then starts to talk. "Believe me, I take absolutely no pleasure in being here. However, when I received counsillor Snape's message, I realized it would be prudent for me to come here at my soonest convenience. Draco, what do you think you are doing?"

"I shall be frank with you father. I love him."

Lucius snorts at the prince's prompt reply. The man is able to even make the small noise sound dignified. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that you will love him forever?"

Draco simply smirks. "For the rest of my life, father. Nothing-no one can stop me from doing so."

The king regards him thoughtfully. "What if he were to die?"

The smirk immidiately falls from his face and his face shines with outrage. "You wouldn't dare!" He states, sensing the ill-hidden threat. "If he dies, then so will I!" It was not beyond his father to use underhanded ways to get what he desired. He was a king and technically his word was law. But would he really try to kill Harry?

"He might be tempted to forget you."

"No money in the world will! Trust me on this."

Draco stares challenging his father in the eyes and Lucius finally sighs defeated and rubs his brow. Apparently he has gotten tired of the word stand-off already and he loses his stern and unapproachable stance. "Draco, the public will not accept it. You arethecrown prince; you cannot have him as your spouce. Not only is he a man, he is a commoner."

Draco finally lets a true smile appear on his face. Contrary to popular believe, his father loved him dearly. He would not try to do something that would hurt Draco: emotionally or physically.

He stands up to place a hand on his father's shoulder and squeezes shortly.

"Don't worry father. I already have a plan that will get me what I desire at the end. I just have to follow the script and say my lines at the right time."

**To Be Continued

* * *

**

**VGJekyll: **_Hello, so no three years time between the last chapter and this one! Pardon the spelling- and grammar mistakes though.I also want to re-write the story, since my writing-style has changed quite a lot._


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